THE    MASQUERADE 


AND 


OTHER     POEMS 


BY 


JOHN   GODFREY  SAXE. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS 

1866. 
<l 
V*   OF  TH,""^ 

'UNIVERSITY 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

JOHN     G.     SAXE, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


DEDICATION. 

TO 

HON.   ISAAC   F.   REDFIELD,   LL.D. 

(LATE  CHIEF  JUSTICE  OF  VERMONT.) 

DEAR  SIR  :  — I  dedicate  this  book  to  you,  not  merely  that 
it  may  be  graced  with  the  name  of  one  of  the  most  eminent 
jurists  of  our  country,  but  that,  while  I  make  mention  of 
your  private  worth  and  elegant  literary  culture,  I  may  at  the 
same  time  inform  my  readers  (loquor  gloriose)  that  so  estimable 
a  man  and  so  good  a  judge,  as  well  of  literature  as  of  law,  is 
my  personal  friend,  and  not  ashamed  to  be  my  Maecenas. 

Of  the  first  poem  in  the  collection  (which  I  have  placed  in 
front  chiefly  because  it  is  the  longest,  and  furnishes  a  pleasant 
title  to  the  volume)  the  plot  was  suggested  by  an  incident  in 
real  life.  The  tale  of  "  Miralda "  is  based  on  a  popular 
legend,  of  which  an  excellent  prose  version  may  be  found  in 
Ballou's  History  of  Cuba.  If,  in  my  rendering  of  Jean  Gras- 
set's  comical  story  of  the  parrot,  I  have  taken  great  liberty 
with  the  French  poem,  I  trust  it  will  be  found  to  have  lost 
nothing  except  its  prolixity  and  coarseness.  As  to  the  imita 
tions  of  Beranger  (I  have  not  ventured  to  call  them  transla 
tions)  so  many  clever  hands  have  failed  of  entire  success  in 


iv  DEDICATION. 

the  same  agreeable  endeavor,  that  I  may  submit  them  without 
apology  for  their  imperfections. 

While  I  am  aware,  my  dear  Judge,  that,  with  your  severe 
taste  in  belles-lettres,  the  faults  of  the  book  cannot  pass  unob 
served,  I  console  myself  with  the  reflection  that  no  one  will 
view  them  more  indulgently,  or  more  generously  seek  for 
excellencies  to  excuse  them. 

I  am,  dear  sir, 

Very  truly  your  friend, 

JOHN    GODFREY    SAXE. 
ALBANY,  N.  Y.,  1866. 


CONTENTS 


THE  MASQUERADE     .         ... 

WHAT  HAS  BECOME  OF  THE  GODS         . 

THE  POET'S  LICENSE         . 

THE  EXPECTED  SHIP    . 

THE  STORY  OF  LIFE         .         .         . 

THE  GREAT  MAGICIAN  . 

THE  BLARNEY  STONE 

THE  MOURNER  A  LA  MODE  . 

THE  GIFTS  OF  THE  GODS          .         . 

A  CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE         .         .         « 

THE  WIFE'S  REVENGE      .         .         . 

MIRALDA  :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ANTILLES  . 

LOVE  AND  LAW         .         .•        ..'•". 

SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES 

ODE  TO  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES 

WHEN  I  MEAN  TO  MARRY    . 

ABOUT  HUSBANDS     .  ,         * 

THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN 

TIME  AND  LOVE        .       ' .         . 

THE  HEART  AND  THE  LIVER         .         . 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON 


PAGE 
3 

18 
.     24 

27 
.     30 

33 
.     37 

40 
.     44 

48 
.      53 

64 
.     75 

83 
.     88 

91 
.     93 

96 

.   100. 

104 

.   107 


vi  CONTENTS. 

TOUJOURS  LES  FEMMES   .         .         .         .         .  .112 

THE  STAMMERING  WIFE      .         .         .         .         .  116 

NIL  ADMIRARI 119 

ADVICE  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND      ....  122 

THE  GAME  OF  LIFE        -.         .         .                  .  .     126 

THE  EDITOR'S  CRIME.         .         ...         .  130 

PADDY'S  ODE  TO  THE  PRINCE     _    .         ..        .  .137 

A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE      .         .         .  •       .         .  142 

THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS           .         .  .     148 

THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES     .    .     .         .         .         .  157- 

OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR       .         .         .         ....  162 

VENUS  AND  VULCAN    .         .         .         .         .         .  172 

JUPITER  AND  DANAE 176 

THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS     .         .        ...        .    .     .  179 

THE  PUZZLED  CENSUS-TAKER          .         .         .   ^  .     193 

EGO  ET  ECHO      .   .     .   .     .    .  " .         .       •;..-  -    .  195 

WOULDN'T  YOU  LIKE  TO  KNOW  ?   .         .         .  .198 

THE  COQUETTE    .         .    .      .         ...        ..  201 

THE  LITTLE  MAID  AND  THE  LAWYER     .         .  .     204 

To  MY  LOVE        .         .         .         .         .  •.     .         .  206 

ROBIN  MERRYMAN  .          .          .   -   -  ;   .     '.         ...  208 

THE  MERRY  MONARCH         .   .      ..'....        ..  212 

THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  MILKMAID           .         .  .     215 

SONNETS. 

PAN  IMMORTAL        ,         .         .         .         .         .  .     221 

THE  VICTIM         .        .. 222 

To  SPRING      .,         .....         .                   .  .     223 

To  MY  WIFE  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY         .         .         .  224 

THE  DILEMMA        ..         ...  225 


CONTENTS.  vii 

THE  PARVENU'S  OPINION         .        ....  226 

THE  GRATEFUL  PREACHER  .         .         .        '.        •  227 

THE  AMBITIOUS  PAINTER       .         <         ,        •         .  228 

EPIGRAMS. 

THE  EXPLANATION 231 

A  COMMON  ALTERNATIVE    .....  232 

NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND      .....  232 

A  PLAIN  CASE    ....         .         .         .  233 

AN  EQUIVOCAL  APOLOGY        .                 .         .        .  233 

A  CANDID  CANDIDATE        .        .        .        .        .  234 

ON  A  DECOLLETE  DRESS         .....  234 

Lucus  A  NON  —  ...        .                . .,         .         .  235 

NEMO  REPENTE  TURPISSIMUS           ....  235 

COXJURGIUM  NON  CONJUGIUM       ....  236 

Too  CANDID  BY  HALF 236 

CHEAP  ENOUGH    ,  237 


THE     MASQUERADE. 


?,  T)T'  exAe^e  voov  nv<a  Tre 


HOM.  II.  xiv.  21T. 


UNIVERSITY 


COUNT  FELIX  was  a  man  of  worth 
By  Fashion's  strictest  definition, 
For  he  had  money,  manners,  birth, 
And  that  most  slippery  thing  on  earth 
Which  social  critics  call  position. 


n. 
And  yet  the  Count  was  seldom  gay  ; 

The  rich  and  noble  have  their  crosses ; 
And  he  —  as  he  was  wont  to  say  — 
Had  seen  some  trouble  in  his  day, 

And  met  with  several  serious  losses. 


4  THE  MASQUERADE. 

III. 
Among  the  rest,  he  lost  his  wife, 

A  very  model  of  a  woman, 
With  every  needed  virtue  rife 
To  lead  a  spouse  a  happy  life,  — 

Such  wives  (in  France)  are  not  uncommon. 

IV. 

The  lady  died,  and  left  him  sad 

And  lone,  to  mourn  the  best  of  spouses ; 
She  left  him  also  —  let  me  add  — 
One  child,  and  all  the  wealth  she  had, — 
The  rent  of  half  a  dozen  houses. 

v. 
I  cannot  tarry  to  discuss 

The  weeping  husband's  desolation  ; 
Upon  her  tomb  he  wrote  it  thus :  — 
"  FELIX  infelicissimus  !  " 

In  very  touching  ostentation. 


THE  MASQUERADE. 

VI. 

Indeed,  the  Count's  behavior  earned 

The  plaudits  of  his  strict  confessor ; 
His  weeds  of  woe  had  fairly  turned 
From  black  to  brown  ere  he  had  learned 
To  think  about  his  wife's  successor. 

VII. 

And  then,  indeed,  't  was  but  a  thought ; 

A  sort  of  sentimental  dreaming, 
That  came  at  times,  and  came  —  to  naught, 
With  all  the  plans  so  nicely  wrought 

By  matrons  skilled  in  marriage-scheming. 

VIII. 

At  last  when  many  years  had  fled, 

And  Father  Time,  the  great  physician, 

Had  soothed  his  sorrow  for  the  dead, 

Count  Felix  took  it  in  his  head 

To  change  his  wearisome  condition. 


6  THE  MASQUERADE. 

IX. 
You  think,  perhaps,  't  was  quickly  done  ; 

The  Count  was  still  a  man  of  fashion ; 
Wealth,  title,  talents,  all  in  one, 
Were  eloquence  to  win  a  nun, 

If  nuns  could  feel  a  worldly  passion. 

x. 

And  yet  the  Count  might  well  despond  % 

Of  tying  soon  the  silken  tether ; 
Wise,  witty,  handsome,  faithful,  fond, 
And  twenty  —  not  a  year  beyond  — 

Are  charming,  —  when  they  come  together ! 

XI. 

But  more  than  that,  the  man  required 
A  wife  to  share  his  whims  and  fancies ; 

Admire  alone  what  Tie  admired  ; 

Desire,  of  course,  as  he  desired, 
And  show  it  in  her  very  glances. 


THE  MASQUERADE. 
XII. 

Long,  long  the  would-be  wooer  tried 
To  find  his  precious  ultimatum,  — 

All  earthly  charms  in  one  fair  bride ; 

But  still  in  vain  he  sought  and  sighed ; 
He  could  n't  manage  to  get  at  'em. 

xm. 
In  sooth,  the  Count  was  one  of  those 

Who,  seeking  something  superhuman, 
Find  not  the  angel  they  would  choose, 
And  —  what  is  more  unlucky  —  lose 

Their  chance  to  wed  a  charming  woman. 

XIV. 

The  best-matched  doves  in  Hymen's  cage 
Were  paired  in  youth's  romantic  season ; 

Laugh  as  you  will  at  passion's  rage, 

The  most  unreasonable  age 

Is  what  is  called  the  age  of  reason. 


8  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XV. 
In  love-affairs,  we  all  have  seen, 

The  heart  is  oft  the  best  adviser ; 
The  gray  might  well  consult  the  "  green," 
Cool  sixty  learn  of  rash  sixteen, 

And  go  away  a  deal  the  wiser. 

XVI. 

The  Count's  high  hopes  began  to  fade ; 

His  plans  were  not  at  all  advancing ; 
When,  lo  !  —  one  day  his  valet  made 
Some  mention  of  a  masquerade,  — 

"  I  '11  go,"  said  he, — uand  see  the  dancing." 

xvn. 
"  'T  will  serve  my  spirits  to  arouse  ; 

And,  faith  !  —  I  'm  getting  melancholy. 
'T  is  not  the  place  to  seek  a  spouse, 
Where  people  go  to  break  their  vows,  — 

But  then  'twill  be  extremely  jolly !  " 


THE  MASQUERADE.  9 

XVIII. 

Count  Felix  found  the  crowd  immense, 
And,  had  he  been  a  censor  morum, 

He  might  have  said,  without  offence, 

"  Got  up  regardless  of  expense, 

And  some  —  regardless  of  decorum." 

XIX. 

"  Faith !  —  all  the  world  is  here  to-night !  " 
"  Nay,"  said  a  merry  friend  demurely, 

"  Not  quite  the  whole, — pardon!  —  not  quite  ; 

Le  Demi-Monde  were  nearer  right, 
And  no  exaggeration,  surely !  " 

xx. 

The  revelry  ('t  was  just  begun) 

A  stoic  might  have  found  diverting  ; 

That  is,  of  course,  if  he  was  one 

Who  liked  to  see  a  bit  of  fun, 

And  fancied  persiflage  and  flirting, 
i* 


10  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XXI. 
But  who  can  paint  that  giddy  maze  ? 

Go  find  the  lucky  man  who  handles 
A  brush  to  catch,  on  gala-days, 
The  whirling,  shooting,  flashing  rays 

Of  Catharine-wheels  and  Roman  candles  ! 

XXII. 

All  sorts  of  masks  that  e'er  were  seen  ; 

Gay  cavaliers  and  hags  of  eighty ; 
Dukes,  dwarfs,  and  "  Highnesses  "  (Serene), 
And  (that 's  of  course)  the  Cyprian  Queen, 

In  gauzes  rather  d£collet6e. 

xxni. 
Lean  Carmelites,  fat  Capuchins, 

Giants  half  human  and  half  bestial ; 
Kings,  Queens,  Magicians,  Harlequins, 
Greeks,  Tartars,  Turks,  and  Mandarins 

More  diabolic  than  "  Celestial." 


THE  MASQUERADE.  11 

XXIV. 

Fair  Scripture  dames,  —  Naomi,  Ruth, 
And  Hagar,  looking  quite  demented  ; 
The  Virtues  (all  —  excepting  Truth) 
And  Magdalens,  who  were  in  sooth 
Just  half  of  what  they  represented  ! 

xxv. 
Fates,  Furies,  Fairies,  —  all  the  best 

And  worst  of  Fancy's  weird  creation  ; 
Psyche  and  Cupid  (demi-dressed) 
With  several  Vestals  —  by  request, 

And  solely  for  that  one  occasion. 

XXVI. 

And  one,  among  the  motley  brood, 

He  saw,  who  shunned  the  wanton  dances ; 

A  sort  of  demi-nun,  who  stood 

In  ringlets  flashing  from  a  hood, 

And  seemed  to  seek  our  hero's  glances. 


12  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XXVII. 
The  Count,  delighted  with  her  air, 

Drew  near,  the  better  to  behold  her ; 
Her  form  was  slight,  her  skin  was  fair, 
And  maidenhood,  you  well  might  swear, 

Breathed  from  the  dimples  in  her  shoulder. 

xxvm. 
He  spoke ;  she  answered  with  a  grace 

That  showed  the  girl  no  vulgar  heiress  ; 
And,  —  if  the  features  one  may  trace 
In  voices,  —  hers  betrayed  a  face 

The  finest  to  be  found  in  Paris ! 

XXIX. 

And  then  such  wit !  —  in  repartee 
She  shone  without  the  least  endeavor  ; 

A  beauty  and  a  bel-esprit! 

A  scholar,  too,  —  't  was  plain  to  see,  — 
Who  ever  saw  a  girl  so  clever  ? 


THE  MASQUERADE.  13 

XXX. 
Her  taste  he  ventured  to  explore 

In  books  —  the  graver  and  the  lighter  — 
And  mentioned  authors  by  the  score  ; 
Man  Dieu  !  —  in  every  sort  of  lore 
She  always  chose  his  favorite  writer ! 

XXXI. 

She  loved  the  poets  ;  but  confessed 
Racine  beat  all  the  others  hollow ; 

At  least,  she  thought  his  style  the  best  — 

(Racine  !  his  literary  test ! 
Racine !  his  Maximus  Apollo  !) 

XXXII. 

Whatever  topic  he  might  name, 

Their  minds  were  strangely  sympathetic ; 
Of  courtship,  marriage,  fashion,  fame, 
Their  views  and  feelings  were  the  same,  — 

"Parblieu!"  he  cried,  "it  looks  prophetic!" 


H  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XXXIII. 

"  Come,  let  us  seek  an  ampler  space  ; 

This  heated  room  —  I  can't  abide  it ! 
That  mask,  I  'm  sure,  is  out  of  place, 
And  hides  the  fairest,  sweetest  face  —  " 

Said  she,  "  I  wear  the  mask  to  hide  it !  " 

xxxiv. 
The  answer  was  extremely  pat, 

And  gave  the  Count  a  deal  of  pleasure  : 
"  C'est  vrai !  —  I  did  not  think  of  that ! 
Come,  let  us  go  where  we  can  chat 

And  eat  (I  'm  hungry)  at  our  leisure." 

xxxv. 
"  I  'm  hungry  too !  "  she  said,  —  and  went, 

Without  the  least  attempt  to  cozen,  — 
Like  ladies  who  refuse,  relent, 
Debate,  oppose,  and  then  consent 

To  —  eat  enough  for  half  a  dozen  ! 


THE  MASQUERADE.  15 

XXXVI. 

And  so  they  sat  them  down  to  dine, 

Solus  cum  sola,  gay  and  merry ; 
The  Count  inquires  the  sort  of  wine 
To  which  his  charmer  may  incline,  — 

Ah!  quelle  merveille!  she  answers,  "  Sherry! " 

XXXVII. 

What  will  she  eat  ?     She  takes  the  carte, 
And  notes  the  viands  that  she  wishes ; 

"Pardon,  Monsieur!  what  makes  you  start?" 

As  if  she  knew  his  tastes  by  heart, 
The  lady  named  his  favorite  dishes  ! 

xxxvm. 
Was  e'er  such  sympathy  before  ? 

The  Count  was  really  half  demented  ; 
He  kissed  her  hand,  and  roundly  swore 
He  loved  her  perfectly  !  —  and,  more,  — 

He  'd  wed  her  —  if  the  gods  consented  ! 


16  THE  MASQUERADE. 

XXXIX. 
"  Monsieur  is  very  kind,"  she  said, 

"  His  love  so  lavishly  bestowing 
On  one  who  never  thought  to  wed,  — 
And  least  of  all  "  —  she  raised  her  head  — 

"  'T  is  late,  Sir  Knight,  I  must  be  going !  " 

XL. 
Count  Felix  sighed,  —  and  while  he  drew 

Her  shawl  about  her,  at  his  leisure, 
"  What  street  ? "  he  asked ;  "  my  cab  is  due." 
"  No  !  —  no  ! "  she  said,  "  I  go  with  you  ! 

That  is  —  if  it  may  be  your  pleasure." 

XLI. 
Of  course,  there  's  little  need  to  say 

The  Count  delighted  in  her  capture  ; 
Away  he  drove,  —  and  all  the  way 
He  murmured,  "  Quelle  ftlicitt !  " 

In  very  ecstasy  of  rapture  ! 


THE  MASQUERADE.  17 

XLII. 

Arrived  at  home  — just  where  a  fount 
Shot  forth  a  jet  of  lucent  water  — 

He  helped  the  lady  to  dismount ; 

She  drops  her  mask  —  and  lo  !  —  the  Count  — 
Sees  —  Dieu  de  del !  —  his  only  daughter  ! 

XLIII. 
"  Good  night !  "  she  said,  —  "  I  'm  very  well, 

Although  you  thought  my  health  was  fading ; 
Be  good  —  and  I  will  never  tell 
('T  was  funny  though)  of  what  befell 

When  you  and  I  went  masquerading  !  " 


WHAT   HAS   BECOME   OF  THE   GODS. 


FULL  often  I  had  heard  it  said, 
As  something  quite  uncon  trover  ted, 
"  The  gods  and  goddesses  are  dead, 
And  high  Olympus  is  deserted  "  ; 
And  so,  while  thinking  of  the  gods, 
I  made,  one  night,  an  exploration, 
(In  fact  or  fancy,  —  where  's  the  odds  ?) 
To  get  authentic  information. 

I  found  —  to  make  a  true  report, 
As  if  I  were  a  sworn  committee  — 

They  all  had  left  the  upper  court, 
And  settled  in  Manhattan  city ; 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME   OF   THE   GODS.    19 

Where  now  they  live,  as  best  they  may, 
Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neighbors, 

And  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 
Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 

In  human  frames,  for  safe  disguise, 

They  come  and  go  through  wooden  portals, 
And  to  the  keen  Detective's  eyes 

Seem  nothing  more  than  common  mortals ; 
For  mortal-like  they  're  clad  and  fed, 

And,  still  to  blind  the  sharp  inspector, 
Eat,  for  ambrosia,  baker's  bread, 

And  tipple  —  everything  but  nectar. 

Great  Jove,  who  wore  the  kingly  crown, 
And  used  to  make  Olympus  rattle, 

As  if  the  sky  was  coming  down, 
Or  all  the  Titans  were  in  battle,  — 

Is  now  a  sorry  playhouse  wight, 

Content  to  make  the  groundlings  wonder, 


20   WHAT  HAS  BECOME   OF   THE   GODS. 

And  earn  some  shillings  every  night, 
By  coining  cheap  theatric  thunder. 

Apollo,  who  in  better  times 

Was  poet-laureate  of  th'  Elysians, 
And,  adding  medicine  to  rhymes, 

Was  chief  among  the  court  physicians, 
Now  cures  disease  of  every  grade,  — 

Lucina's  cares  and  Cupid's  curses,  — 
And,  still  to  ply  his  double  trade, 

Bepuffs  his  pills  in  doggerel  verses ! 

Minerva,  famous  in  her  day 

For  wit  and  war,  —  though  often  shocking 
The  gods  by  overmuch  display 

Of  what  they  called  her  azure  stocking,  — 
Now  deals  in  books  of  ancient  kind, 

(Whose  Learning  soars  and  Fancy  grovels,) 

And,  to  indulge  her  warlike  mind, 

* 
Writes  very  sanguinary  novels. 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME   OF      . 

And  Yenus,  who  on  Ida's  seat 

In  myrtle-groves  her  charms  paraded, 
Displays  her  beauty  in  the  street, 

And  seems,  indeed,  a  little  faded ; 
She  's  dealing  in  the  clothing-line, 

(If  at  her  word  you  choose  to  take  her,) 
In  /Something  Square  you  read  the  sign  :  — 

"  Miss  CYTHEREA,  MANTUA-MAKER." 

Mars  figures  still  as  god  of  war, 

But  not  with  spear  and  iron  hanger, 
Erect  upon  the  ponderous  car 

That  rolled  along  with  fearful  clangor,  — 
Ah  !  no  ;  of  sword  and  spear  bereft, 

He  stands  beside  his  bottle-holder, 
And  plumps  his  right,  and  plants  his  left, 

And  strikes  directly  from  the  shoulder. 

And  Bacchus,  reared  among  the  vines 
That  flourished  in  the  fields  Elysian, 


22   WHAT  HAS  BECOME    OF   THE   GODS. 

And  ruddy  with  the  rarest  wines 
That  ever  flashed  upon  the  vision,  — 

A  licensed  liquor-dealer  now. 

Sits  pale  and  thin  from  over-dosing 

With  whisky,  made  —  the  deuce  knows  how, 
And  brandy  of  his  own  composing. 

And  cunning  Mercury,  —  what  d'  ye  think 

Is  now  the  nimble  rogue's  condition  ? 
Of  course  't  was  but  a  step,  to  sink 

From  Peter  Funk  to  politician  ; 
Though  now  he  neither  steals  nor  robs, 

But  just  secures  a  friend's  election, 
And  lives  and  thrives  on  little  jobs 

Connected  with  the  Street  Inspection. 

Thus  all  the  gods,  in  deep  disguise, 
Go  in  and  out  of  wooden  portals, 

And,  to  the  sharpest  human  eyes, 

Seem  nothing  more  than  common  mortals. 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME   OF   THE   GODS.  23 

And  so  they  live,  as  best  they  may, 
Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neighbors, 

And,  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 
Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 


THE    POET'S    LICENSE. 

THE  Poet's  License !  —  Some  there  are 
Who  hold  the  false  opinion 
'T  is  but  a  meagre  privilege 

Confined  to  Art's  dominion  ; 
The  right  to  rhyme  quite  unrestrained 

By  certain  rigid  fetters 
Which  bind  the  colder  men  of  prose, 
Within  the  realm  of  letters. 

Ah  no  !  —  I  deem  't  is  something  more, 

And  something  vastly  higher, 
To  which  the  proudest  bard  on  earth 

May  worthily  aspire. 


THE  POET'S  LICENSE.  25 

The  Poet's  License  !  —  't  is  the  right, 

Within  the  rule  of  duty, 
To  look  on  all  delightful  things 

Throughout  the  world  of  beauty. 

To  gaze  with  rapture  at  the  stars 

That  in  the  skies  are  glowing ; 
To  see  the  gems  of  perfect  dye 

That  in  the  woods  are  growing,  — 
And  more  than  sage  astronomer, 

And  more  than  learned  florist, 
To  read  the  glorious  homilies 

Of  Firmament  and  Forest. 

When  Nature  gives  a  gorgeous  rose, 

Or  yields  the  simplest  fern, 
She  writes  this  motto  on  the  leaves,  — 

"  To  whom  it  may  concern  !  " 
And  so  it  is  the  poet  comes 

And  revels  in  her  bowers, 
2 


26  THE  POETS  LICENSE. 

And,  though  another  hold  the  land, 
Is  owner  of  the  flowers. 


0  nevermore  let  Ignorance 

With  heedless  iteration 
Repeat  the  phrase  as  meaning  aught 

Of  trivial  estimation ; 
The  Poet's  License  !  —  T  is  the  fee 

Of  earth  and  sky  and  river 
To  him  who  views  them  royally, 

To  have  and  hold  forever ! 


THE    EXPECTED    SHIP. 

THUS  I  heard  a  poet  say, 
As  he  sang  in  merry  glee, 
"  Ah !  't  will  be  a  golden  day, 

When  my  ship  conies  o'er  the  sea ! 

"I  do  know  a  cottage  fine, 
As  a  poet's  house  should  be,  • 

And  the  cottage  shall  be  mine, 
"When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 


"  I  do  know  a  maiden  fair, 

Fair,  and  fond,  and  dear  to  me, 

And  we  '11  be  a  wedded  pair, 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 


28  THE  EXPECTED  SHIP. 

"  And  within  that  cottage  fine, 
Blest  as  any  king  may  be, 

Every  pleasure  shall  be  mine, 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 

"  To  be  rich  is  to  be  great ; 

Love  is  only  for  the  free ; 
Grant  me  patience,  while  I  wait 

Till  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea  !  " 

Months  and  years  have  come  and  gone 
Since  the  poet  sang  to  me, 

Yet  he  still  keeps  hoping  on 
For  the  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 

Thus  the  siren  voice  of  Hope 
Whispers  still  to  you  and  me 

Of  something  in  the  future's  scope, 
Some  golden  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 


THE  EXPECTED  SHIP.  29 

Never  sailor  yet  hath  found, 

Looking  windward  or  to  lee, 
Any  vessel  homeward  bound, 

Like  that  ship  from  o'er  the  sea  ! 

Never  comes  the  shining  deck  ; 

But  that  tiny  cloud  may  be, 
Though  it  seems  the  merest  speck, 

The  promised  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 

Never  looms  the  swelling  sail, 

But  the  wind  is  blowing  free, 
And  that  may  be  the  precious  gale 

That  brings  the  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 


THE    STORY    OF    LIFE. 

SAY,  what  is  life  ?     'T  is  to  be  born'; 
A  helpless  Babe,  to  greet  the  light 
With  a  sharp  wail,  as  if  the  morn 

Foretold  a  cloudy  noon  and  night ;  . 
To  weep,  to  sleep,  and  weep  again, 
With  sunny  smiles  between  ;  and  then  ? 


And  then  apace  the  infant  grows 
To  be  a  laughing,  puling  boy, 

Happy,  despite  his  little  woes, 
Were  he  but  conscious  of  his  joy  ; 

To  be,  in  short,  from  two  to  ten, 

A  merry,  moody  Child  ;  and  then  ? 


THE   STORY  OF  LIFE.  31 

And  then,  in  coat  and  trousers  clad, 

To  learn  to  say  the  Decalogue, 

• 
And  break  it ;  an  unthinking  Lad, 

With  mirth  and  mischief  all  agog  ; 
A  truant  oft  by  field  and  fen 
To  capture  butterflies  ;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  increased  in  strength  and  size, 
To  be,  anon,  a  Youth  full-grown  ; 

A  hero  in  his  mother's  eyes, 
A  young  Apollo  in  his  own  ; 

To  imitate  the  ways  of  men 

In  fashionable  sins  ;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  at  last,  to  be  a  Man  ; 

To  fall  in  love  ;  to  woo  a^nd  wed  ; 
With  seething  brain  to  scheme  and  plan  ; 

To  gather  gold,  or  toil  for  bread  ; 
To  sue  for  fame  with  tongue  or  pen, 
And  gain  or  lose  the  prize ;  and  then  ? 


32  THE   STORY  OF  LIFE. 

And  then  in  gray  and  wrinkled  Eld 
To  mourn  the  speed  of  life's  decline ; 

To  praise  the  scenes  his  youth  beheld, 
And  dwell  in  memory  of  Lang-Syne  ; 

To  dream  awhile  with  darkened  ken, 

Then  drop  into  his  grave,  and  then  ? 


THE    GREAT    MAGICIAN. 

Ecce  iterum  Figulus  !  * 

ONCE,  when  a  lad,  it  was  my  hap 
To  gain  my  mother's  kind  permission 
To  go  and  see  a  foreign  chap 

Who  called  himself  "  The  Great  Magician  " ; 
I  recollect  his  wondrous  skill 

In  divers  mystic  conjurations, 
And  how  the  fellow  wrought  at  will 
The  most  prodigious  transformations. 

I  recollect  the  nervous  man 

Within  whose  hat  the  great  deceiver 

*  "Potter,  the  Great  Magician,"  a  clever  conjurer  of  a  for 
mer  generation,  is  still  vividly  remembered  by  many  people 
in  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont. 

2*  o 


34  THE   GREAT  MAGICIAN. 

Broke  eggs,  as  in  a  frying-pan, 

And  took  'em  smoking  from  the  beaver  ! 
I  recollect  the  lady's  shawl 

Which  the  magician  rent  asunder, 
And  then  restored  ;  but,  best  of  all, 

I  recollect  the  Ribbon-Wonder  ! 

I  mean,  of  course,  the  funny  freak 

In  which  the  wizard,  at  his  pleasure, 
Spins  lots  of  ribbons  from  his  cheek, 

(Where  he  had  hid  'em,  at  his  leisure,) 
Yard  after  yard,  of  every  hue, 

Comes  blazing  out,  and  still  the  fellow 
Keeps  spinning  ribbons,  red  and  blue, 

And  black,  and  white,  and  green,  and  yellow  ! 

I  ne'er  shall  see  another  show 

To  rank  with  the  immortal  "Potter's  "  ; 
He  's  dead  and  buried  long  ago, 

And  others  charm  our  sons  and  daughters ; 


THE   GREAT  MAG  1C  LAX.  35 

Years  —  years  have  fled  —  alas  !  how  quick, 
Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magician, 

And  yet  I  've  seen  the  Ribbon-Trick 
In  many  a  curious  repetition  ! 

Thus,  when  an  author  I  have  read 

Who  much  amazed  the  world  of  letters 
With  gems  his  fluent  pen  has  shed, 

(All  nicely  pilfered  from  his  betters,) 
Presto  !  —  't  is  done  !  —  and  all  complete, 

As  in  my  youth's  enraptured  vision, 
I  Ve  seen  again  the  Ribbon-Feat, 

And  thought  about  the  Great  Magician ! 

So,  when  a  sermon  I  have  heard 

Made  up  of  bits  of  borrowed  learning, 

Some  cheap  mosaic  which  has  stirred 
The  wonder  of  the  undiscerning,  — 

Swift  as  a  flash  has  memory  then 
Recalled  the  ancient  exhibition  ; 


36  THE   GREAT  MAGICIAN. 

I  saw  the  Ribbon-Trick  again, 

And  thought  about  the  Great  Magician  ! 

So  when  some  flippant  man-o'-jokes, 

Though  in  himself  no  dunce  was  duller, 
Has  dazzled  all  the  simple  folks 

With  brilliant  jests  of  every  color,  — 
I  've  whispered  thus  (while  fast  and  thick 

The  changes  flashed  across  my  vision)  :  — 
"  How  well  he  plays  the  Ribbon-Trick ! 

By  Jove  !  —  he  beats  the  Great  Magician  ! 

I  ne'er  shall  see  another  show 

To  rank  with  the  immortal  "  Potter's  "  ; 
He  's  dead  and  buried  long  ago, 

And  other  wizards  take  the  quarters  ; 
Years  —  years  have  fled  —  alas  !  how  quick, 

Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magician, 
And  yet  I  've  seen  the  Ribbon-Trick 

In  many  a  curious  repetition  ! 


THE    BLARNEY    STONE. 

I. 

IN  Blarney  Castle,  on  a  crumbling  tower, 
There   lies   a  stone,  (above  your  ready 

reach,) 
Which  to  the  lips  imparts,  't  is  said,  the  power 

Of  facile  falsehood,  and  persuasive  speech  ; 
And  hence,  of  one  who  talks  in  such  a  tone, 
The  peasants  say,  "  He 's  kissed  the  Blarney 
Stone ! " 


n. 


Thus,  when  I  see  some  flippant  tourist  swell 
With  secrets  wrested  from  an  Emperor,  — 


38  THE  BLARNEY  STONE. 

And  hear  him  vaunt  his  bravery,  and  tell 

How  once  he  snubbed  a  Marqiiis,  —  I  infer 
The  man  came  back  —  if  but  the  truth  were 

known  — 
By  way  of  Cork,  and  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone  ! 

m. 
So,  when  I  hear  a  shallow  dandy  boast 

(In  the  long  ear  that  marks  a  brother  dunce) 
What  precious  favors  ladies'  lips  have  lost, 

To  his  advantage  ;  I  suspect,  at  once, 
The  fellow 's  lying ;  that  the  dog  alone 
(Enough  for  him !)  has  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone  1 

IV. 

When  some  fine  lady,  —  ready  to  defame 
An  absent  beauty,  with  as  sweet  a  grace, — 

With  seeming  rapture  greets  a  hated  name, 
And  lauds  her  rival  to  her  wondering  face ; 

E'en  Charity  herself  must  freely  own 

Some  women,   too,   have   kissed   the   Blarney 
Stone!  - 


THE  BLARNEY  STONE.  39 

V. 

When  sleek  attorneys,  whose  seductive  tongues, 

Smooth  with  the  unction  of  a  golden  fee, 
u  Breathe  forth  huge  falsehoods  from  capacious 

lungs,"* 

(The  words  are  Juvenal's)  't  is  plain  to  see 
A  lawyer's  genius  is  n't  all  his  own  ; 
The   specious   rogue   has  kissed   the   Blarney 
Stone ! 

VI. 

When  the  false  pastor,  from  his  fainting  flock 
Withholds  the  Bread  of  Life  — the  Gospel 

news  — 
To  give  them  dainty  words,  lest  he  should  shock 

The  fragile  fabric  of  the  paying  pews,  — 
Who  but  must  feel,  the  man,  to  Grace  unknown, 
Has  kissed,  —  not  Calvary,  —  but  the  Blarney 
Stone ! 

*  "  Immensa  cavi  spirant  mendacia  folles." 


THE   MOURNER   A   LA   MODE. 

I    SAW  .her  last  night  at  a  party, 
(The  elegant  party  at  Mead's,) 
And  looking  remarkably  hearty 

For  a  widow  so  young  in  her  weeds ; 
Yet  I  know  she  was  suffering  sorrow 

Too  deep  for  the  tongue  to  express,  — 
Or  why  had  she  chosen  to  borrow 
So  much  from  the  language  of  dress  ? 


Her  shawl  was  as  sable  as  night ; 

And  her  gloves  were  as  dark  as  her  shawl ; 
And  her  jewels  —  that  flashed  in  the  light  — 

Were  black  as  a  funeral  pall ; 


THE  MOURNER  A   LA   MODE.  41 

Her  robe  had  the  hue  of  the  rest, 
(How  nicely  it  fitted  her  shape !) 

And  the  grief  that  was  heaving  her  breast 
Boiled  over  in  billows  of  crape ! 

What  tears  of  vicarious  woe, 

That  else  might  have  sullied  her  face, 
Were  kindly  permitted  to  flow 

In  ripples  of  ebony  lace ! 
While  even  her  fan,  in  its  play, 

Had  quite  a  lugubrious  scope, 
And  seemed  to  be  waving  away 

The  ghost  of  the  angel  of  Hope ! 

Yet  rich  as  the  robes  of  a  queen, 
Was  the  sombre  apparel  she  wore ; 

I  'm  certain  I  never  had  seen 

Such  a  sumptuous  sorrow  before  ; 

And  I  could  n't  help  thinking  the  beauty, 
In  mourning  the  loved  and  the  lost, 


42  THE   MOURNER   A  LA   MODE. 

Was  doing  her  conjugal  duty 
Altogether  regardless  of  cost ! 

One  surely  would  say  a  devotion 

Performed  at  so  vast  an  expense, 
Betrayed  an  excess  of  emotion 

That  was  really  something  immense  ; 
And  yet  as  I  viewed,  at  my  leisure, 

Those  tokens  of  tender  regard, 
I  thought :. —  It  is  scarce  without  measure 

The  sorrow  that  goes  by  the  yard ! 

Ah !  grief  is  a  curious  passion  ; 

And  yours  —  I  am  sorely  afraid  — 
The  very  next  phase  of  the  fashion 

Will  find  it  beginning  to  fade  ; 
Though  dark  are  the  shadows  of  grief, 

The  morning  will  follow  the  night, 

Half-tints  will  betoken  relief, 

• 

Till  joy  shall  be  symbolled  in  white  ! 


THE  MOURNER  A   LA    MODE.  43 

Ah  well !  — it  were  idle  to  quarrel 

"With  Fashion,  or  aught  she  may  do ; 
And  so  I  conclude  with  a  moral 

And  metaphor  —  warranted  new :  — 
"When  measles  come  handsomely  out, 

The  patient  is  safest,  they  say ; 
And  the  Sorrow  is  mildest,  no  doubt, 

That  works  in  a  similar  way ! 


THE    GIFTS    OF    THE    GODS. 

THE  saying  is  wise,  though  it  sounds  like 
a  jest, 
That  "  The  gods  don't  allow  us  to  be  in  their 

debt,'' 

For  though  we  may  think  we  are  specially  blest, 
We  are  certain  to  pay  for  the  favors  we  get ! 

Are  Riches  the  boon  ?     Nay,  be  not  elate  ; 

The  final  account  is  n't  settled  as  yet ; 
Old  Care  has  a  mortgage  on  every  estate, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  wealth  that 

you  get ! 

* 

Is  Honor  the  prize  ?     It  were  easy  to  name 
What  sorrows  and  perils  her  pathway  beset ; 


THE   GIFTS   OF   THE   GODS.  45 

Griin  Hate  and  Detraction  accompany  Fame, 
And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  honor  you 
get! 

Is  Learning  a  treasure  ?     How  charming  the 

pair 

When  Talent  and  Culture  are  lovingly  met ; 
But  Labor  unceasing  is  grievous  to  bear, 
And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  learning 
you  get ! 

Is  Genius  worth  having  ?    There  is  n't  a  doubt ; 

And  yet  what  a  price  on  the  blessing  is  set,  — 
To  suffer  more  with  it  than  dunces  without, 

For  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  genius  you 
get! 

Is  Beauty  a  blessing  ?     To  have  it  for  naught 
The  gocls  never  grant  to  their  veriest  pet ; 

Pale  Envy  reminds  you  the  jewel  is  bought, 
And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  beauty  you 
get! 


46  THE   GIFTS    OF   THE   GODS. 

But  Pleasure  ?     Alas  !  —  how  prolific  of  pain ! 

Gay  Pleasure  is  followed  by  gloomy  Regret ; 
And  often  Repentance  is  one  of  her  train, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the  pleasure 
you  get ! 

But  surely  in  Friendship  we  all  may  secure 
An  excellent  gift ;  never  doubt  it,  —  and  yet 

"With  much  to  enjoy  there  is  much  to  endure, 
And  that 's  what  we  pay  for  the  friendship 
we  get ! 

But  then  there  is  Love  ?  —  Nay,  speak  not  too 

soon ; 
The  fondest  of  hearts  may  have  reason  to 

fret ; 

For  Fear  and  Bereavement  attend  on  the  boon, 
And  that 's  what  we  pay  for  the  love  that  we 
get! 


THE   GIFTS   OF   THE   GODS.  47 

And  thus  it  appears  —  though  it  sounds  like  a 
jest  — 

The  gods  don't  allow  us  to  be  in  their  debt ; 
And  though  we  may  think  we  are  specially  blest, 

We  are  certain  to  pay  for  whatever  we  get ! 


A    CONNUBIAL    ECLOGUE. 

Arcades  ambo, 
Et  cantare  pares  et  respondere  parati. 

VIRGIL. 

HE. 

MUCH  lately  have  I  thought,  my  darling 
wife, 

Some  simple  rules  might  make  our  wedded  life 
As  pleasant  always  as  a  morn  in  May ; 
I  merely  name  it,  —  what  does  Molly  say  ?. 

SHE. 

Agreed  :  your  plan  I  heartily  approve  ; 

Kules  would 'be  nice,  —  but  who  shall  make 

them,  love? 

Nay,  do  not  speak  !  —  let  this  the  bargain  be, 
One  shall  be  made  by  you,  and  one  by  me, 
Till  all  are  done  — 


A   CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE.  49 

HE. 

—  Your  plan  is  surely  fair, 
In  such  a  work  't  is  fitting  we  should  share ; 
And  now  —  although  it  matters  not  a  pin  — 
If  you  have  no  objection,  I  '11  begin. 

SHE. 

Proceed !     In  making  laws  I  'm  little  versed  ; 
And  as  to  words,  I  do  not  mind  the  first ; 
I  only  claim  —  and  hold  the  treasure  fast  — 
My  sex's  sacred  privilege,  the  last ! 

HE. 

With  all  my  heart.    Well,  dearest,  to  begin :  — 
When  by  our  cheerful  hearth  our  friends  drop 

in, 

And  I  am  talking  in  my  brilliant  style 
(The  rest  with  rapture  listening  the  while) 
About  the  war,  —  or  anything,  in  short, 
That  you  're  aware  is  my  especial  forte,  — 

3  D 


50  A    CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE. 

Pray  don't  get  up  a  circle  of  your  own, 
And  talk  of — bonnets,  in  an  undertone  ! 

SHE. 

That 's  Number  One  ;  I  '11  mind  it  well,  if  you 
Will  do  as  much,  my  dear,  by  Number  Two : 
When  we  attend  a  party  or  a  ball, 
Don't  leave  your  Molly  standing  by  the  wall, 
The  helpless  victim  of  the  dreariest  bore  ^ 
That  ever  walked  upon  a  parlor-floor, 
While  you  —  oblivious  of  your  spouse's  doom  — 
Flirt  with  the  girls,  —  the  gayest  in  the  room  ! 

HE. 

When  I  (although  the  busiest  man  alive) 
Have  snatched  an  hour  to  take  a  pleasant  drive, 
And  say,  "  Remember,  at  precisely  four 
You  '11  find  the  carriage  ready  at  the  door," 
Don't  keep  me  waiting  half  an  hour  or  so, 
And  then  declare,   "  The  clock  must  be  too 
slow ! " 


A    CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE.  51 

SHE. 

"When  you  (such  things  have  happened  now 

and  then) 

Go  to  the  Club  with,  "  I  '11  be  back  at  ten," 
And  stay  till  two  o'clock,  you  need  n't  say, 
"  I  really  was  the  first  to  come  away ; 
'T  is  very  strange  how  swift  the  time  has  passed  : 
I  'm  sure,  my  dear,  the  clock  must  be  too  fast!" 
•* 

HE. 

There  —  that  will  do  ;  what  else  remains  to  say 

We  may  consider  at  a  future  day ; 

I  'm  getting  sleepy — and  — if  you  have  done  — 

SHE. 

Not  I !  —  this  making  rules  is  precious  fun  ; 
Now  here  's  another :  —  When  you  paint  to  me 
"  That  charming  woman  "  you  are  sure  to  see, 
Don't  —  when  you  praise  the  virtues  she  has 
got  — 


52  A    CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE. 

Name  only  those  you  think  your  wife  has  not ! 
And  here  's  a  rule  I  hope  you  won't  forget, 
The  most  important  I  have  mentioned  yet,  — 
Pray  mind  it  well :  —  Whenever  you  incline 
To  bring  your  queer  companions  home  to  dine, 
Suppose,   my   dear,  —  Good   Gracious  !   he  's 

asleep ! 

Ah  !  well,  —  H  is  lucky  good  advice  will  keep ; 
And  he  shall  have  it,  or,  upon  my  life, 
I  've  not  the  proper  spirit  of  a  wife  ! 


THE    WIFE'S    REVENGE. 

FROM     THE    SPANISH. 
I. 

"/^VNCE  on  a  time,"   there   nourished  in 

V_y         Madrid 

A  painter,  clever,  and  the  pet  of  Fame, 
Don  Jose',  —  but  the  rest  were  better  hid ; 

So  please  accept  the  simple  Christian  name, — 
Only,  to  keep  my  verse  from  being  prosy, 
Pray  mind  your  Spanish,  and  pronounce  it, 
.'    Hozy! 

II. 

Don  Jose*,  —  who,  it  seems,  had  lately  won 
Much  praise  and  cash,  —  to  crown  a  lucky 
week, 


54  THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

Resolved  for  once  to  have  a  little  fun, 

To  ease  him  of  his  easel,  —  so  to  speak,  — 
And  so,  in  honor  of  his  limning  labors, 
He  gave  a  party  to  his  artist-neighbors. 

m. 
A  strange  affair ;  for  not  a  woman  came 

To  grace  the  table  ;  e'en  the  painter's  spouse, 
Donna  Casilda,  a  most  worthy  dame, 

Was,  rather  roughly,  told  to  quit  the  house, 
And  go  and  gossip,  for  the  evening,  down 
Among  her  cousins  in  the  lower  town. 

IV. 

The  lady  went ;  but  presently  came  back, 
For  mirth  or  mischief,  with  a  jolly  cousin, 

And  sought  a  closet,  where  an  ample  crack 
Revealed  the  revellers,  sitting,  by  the  dozen, 

Discussing  wine  and  —  Art  ?  —  No,  —  "  women 

folks !  " 
In  senseless  satire  and  indecent  jokes. 


THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE.  55 

V. 

"  Women  ?  "  said  Jose*,  "  what  do  women  know 

Of  poetry  or  painting  ?  "    ("  Hear  him  talk ! " 

Whispered  the  list'ners.)     "  When  did  woman 

show 

A  ray  of  genius  in  the  higher  walk 
Of  either  ?     No  ;  to  them  the  gods  impart 
Arts,  —  quite  enough,  —  but   deuce   a  bit  of 
Art!" 

VI. 

("Wretch!"  cried  the  ladies.)     "Yes,"  said 

Jose,  "  take 

Away  from  women  love-intrigues  and  all 
The  cheap  disguises  they  are  wont  to  make 
T<5  hide  their  spots,  —  they  'd  sing  extremely 

small !  " 
("  Fool ! "  said  his  spouse,  "  we  '11  settle,  by  and 

by, 

Who  sings  the  smallest,  villain !  —  you  or  I ! ") 


56  THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

VII. 
To  make  the  matter  worse,  the  jovial  guests 

Were  duly  mindful  not  to  be  exceeded 
In  coarse  allusions  and  unsavory  jests, 

But  —  following  Jose*  —  talked,  of  course,  as 

he  did ; 

I  Ve  been,  myself,  to  many  a  bachelor-party, 
And  found  them,  mainly,  less  refined  than  hearty. 

VIII. 

The  party  over,  —  full  of  inward  ire, 
Casilda  plotted,  silently  and  long, 

Some  fitting  vengeance.     Women  seldom  tire 
In  their  resentments,  whether  right  or  wrong: 

In  classic  authors  we  are  often  warned 

There  's    naught    so    savage    as    a    "woman 
scorned." 

IX. 

Besides,  Casilda,  be  it  known,  had  much 

Of  what   the    French    applaud,  —  and    not 
amiss, — 


THE    WIFE'S  REVE 


As  "  savoir-faire"  (I  do  not  know  the  Dutch)  ; 

The  literal  Germans  call  it  "  Mutterwiss" 
The  Yankees   "gumption"  and  the  Grecians 

"  nous,"  — 
A.  useful  thing  to  have  about  the  house. 


x. 
At  length  the  lady  hit  upon  a  plan 

Worthy  of  Hermes  for  its  deep  disguise ; 
She  got  a  carpenter,  —  a  trusty  man, — 

To  make  a  door,  and  of  a  certain  size, 
With  curious  carvings  and  heraldic  bands, 
And  bade  him  wait  her  ladyship's  commands. 

XI. 

Then  falling  sick,  —  as  gentle  ladies  know 
The  ready  art,  unless  romances  lie,  — 

She  groaned  aloud,  and  bade  Don  Jos£  go, 
And   quickly,  too,  —  or   she   should  surely 
die, — 

3* 


58  THE   WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

And  fetch  her  nurse,  —  a  woman  who  abode 
Some  three  miles  distant  by  the  nearest  road. 

XII. 

With  many  a  frown  and  many  a  bitter  curse 
He  heard  the  summons.     'T  was  a  pretty 

hour, 
He  said,  —  to  go  a-gadding  for  a  nurse ! 

At  twelve  at  night !  —  and  in  a  drenching 

shower ! 

He  'd  never  go,  —  unless  the  devil  sent, — 
And  then  Don  Jos£  took  his  hat  and  went ! 

xm. 

A  long,  long  hour  he  paced  the  dirty  street 
Where  dwelt  the  nurse,  but  could  n't  find  the 

place ; 

For  he  had  lost  the*  number ;  and  his  feet, 
Though  clad  in  leather,  made   a  bootless 
chase ; 


THE   WIFE'S  REVENGE.  59 

He  fain  had  questioned  some  one ;  all  in  vain, — 
The  very  thieves  were  fearful  of  the  rain ! 

XIV. 

Returning  homeward  from  his  weary  tramp, 
He  reached  his  house,  —  or  where  his  house 

should  be ; 

When,  by  the  glimmer  of  the  entry-lamp, 
Don  Jose*   saw  —  and   marvelled   much   to 

see  — 

An  ancient,  strange,  and  most  fantastic  door, 
The  like  whereof  he  'd  never  seen  before ! 

xv.  * 

"  Now,  by  Our  Lady  !  —  this  is  mighty  queer !  " 

Cried  Jose*,  —  staring  at  the  graven  wood,  — 
"  I  know  my  dwelling  stands  exactly  here ; 

At  least,  I  'm  certain  here  is  where  it  stood 
Two  hours  ago,  when  (here  he  gave  a  curse) 
Donna  Casilda  sent  me  for  the  nurse. 


60  THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

XVI. 
I  know  the  houses  upon  either  side ; 

There  stands  the  dwelling  of  the  undertaker ; 
Here  my  good  friend  Morena  lived  and  died ; 

And  here  '*  the  shop  of  old  Trappal,  the  baker ; 
And  yet,  as  sure  as  iron  is  n't  brass, 
'  Tis  not  my  door,  or  I  'm  a  precious  ass  ! 

XVII. 

"  However,  I  will  knock  " ;  and  so  he  did, 
And  called,  "  Casilda!  "  loud  enough  to  rouse 

The  very  dullest  watchman  in  Madrid ; 
But  woke,  instead,  the  porter  of  the  house, 

Who  rudely  asked  him,  Where  he  got  his  beer? 

And  bade  him,   "  Go  !  —  there 's  no   Casilda 
here ! " 

XVIII. 

Don  Jos6  crossed  himself  in  dire  dismay, 
Lest  he  had  lost  his  reason,  or  his  sight ; 


THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE.  61 

At  least 't  was  certain  he  had  lost  his  way ; 

And,  hoping  sleep  might  set  the  matter  right, 
He  sought  and  found  the  dwelling  of  a  friend 
Who  lived  in  town  —  quite  at  the  other  end. 

XIX. 

Next  morning  Jose*,  rising  with  the  sun, 

Returned,  once  more,  to  seek  the  missing 
house ; 

And  there  it  stood,  as  it  had  always  done, 
And  there  stood  also  his  indignant  spouse 

With  half  her  city  cousins  at  her  back, 

Waiting  to  put  poor  Josd  on  the  rack. 

xx. 
"A  charming  husband,  you!"  the  dame  began, 

"  To  leave  your  spouse  in  peril  of  her  life, 
For  tavern  revellers  !  —  You  're  a  pretty  man, 

Thus  to  desert  your  lawful,  wedded  wife, 
And  spend  your  nights  —  0  villain  !  —  don't 

explain, 
I  '11  be  revenged  if  there  is  law  in  Spain  !  " 


62  THE   WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

XXI. 
"  Nay,    Madam,    hear    me  1  —  just    a    single 

word  —  " 

And  then  he  told  her  of  his  fruitless  search 
To  find  "the  beldam ;  and  of  what  occurred,  — 
How  his  own  house  had  left  him  in  the  lurch  ! 
Here  such  a  stream  of  scorn  came  pouring  in, 
Don  Josefs  voice  was  smothered  in  the  din. 

XXII. 

"  Nay,"  said  Casilda,  "  that  will  never  do ; 

Your  own  confession  plainly  puts  you  down ! 
Say  you  were  tipsy,  (it  were  nothing  new,) 

And  spent  the  night  carousing  through  the 

town 

With  other  topers  ;  that  may  be  received ; 
But,  faith !  your  tale  will  never  be  believed !  " 

XXIII. 

Crazed  with  the  clamor  of  the  noisy  crew 
All  singing  chorus  to  the  injured  dame, 


THE   WIFE'S  REVENGE.  63 

Say,  what  the  deuce  could  poor  Don  Jos6  do  ?  — 
He   prayed  for  pardon,   and   confessed  his 

shame ; 

And  gave  no  dinners,  in  his  future  life. 
Without  remembering  to  invite  Ms  wife  !  " 


M  I  R  A  L  D  A  : 


A    TALE     OF    THE    ANTILLES. 


IN  Cuba,  when  that  lovely  land 
Saw  Tacon  reigning  in  his  glory, 
How  Justice  held,  at  his  command, 
Her  balance  with  an  even  hand  — 
Learn  while  you  listen  to  my  story. 

n. 
Miralda  —  such  her  maiden  name  — 

Was  poor  and  fair,  and  gay  and  witty, 
Yet  in  Havana  not  a  dame 
In  satin  had  a  fairer  fame, 

Or  owned  a  face  one  half  so  pretty. 


MIRALDA.  65 

III. 
For  years  she  plied  her  humble  trade, 

(To  sell  cigars  was  her  vocation,) 
And  many  a  gay  gallant  had  paid 
More  pounds  to  please  the  handsome  maid 
Than  pence  to  buy  his  soul's  salvation. 

IV. 

But  though  the  maiden,  like  the  sun, 
Had  smiles  for  every  transient  rover, 

Her  smiles  were  all  the  bravest  won ; 

Miralda  gave  her  heart  to  none 
Save  Pedro,  her  affianced  lover ; 

v. 
Pedro,  a  manly  youth  who  bore 

His  station  well  as  labor's  vassal, 
The  while  he  plied  a  nimble  oar 
For  passengers,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Between  the  Punta  and  the  Castle. 


66  MIRALDA. 

* 

VI. 

The  handsome  boatman  she  had  learned 
To  love  with  fondest,  truest  passion ; 

For  him  she  saved  the  gold  she  earned ; 

For  him  Miralda  proudly  spurned 
The  doubtful  suit  of  men  of  fashion. 

VII. 

Of  these  —  a  giddy,  gaudy  train, 

Strict  devotees  of  wanton  Pleasure  — 

Gay  Count  Almonte*  sought  to  gain 

Miralda's  love  ;  but  all  in  vain ; 
Her  heart  was  still  her  Pedro's  treasure. 

vm. 
At  last  the  Count,  in  sheer  despair 

Of  gaining  aught  by  patient  suing, 
Contrived  —  the  wretch !  —  a  cunning  snare, 
By  wicked  force  to  win  and  wear 

The  prize  that  spurned  his  gentler  wooing. 


MIRALDA.  67 

IX. 
One  day  a  dashing  Captain  came, 

Before  the  morning  sun  had  risen, 
And,  bowing,  begged  to  know  her  name. 
"  Miralda."     "  Faith !  it  is  the  same. 
Here,  men,  conduct  the  girl  to  prison !  " 

x. 

"  By  whose  authority  ?  "  she  said  ; 

"  The  Governor's  !  "     "  Nay,  then  't  is  folly 
To  question  more."     She  dropped  her  head, 
And  followed  where  the  Captain  led, 

O'erwhelmed  with  deepest  melancholy. 

XI. 

The  prison  seems  a  league  or  more 
From  poor  Miralda's  humble  shanty ; 

Was  e'er  such  treachery  before  ? 

The  Count  Almonte'  's  at  the  door, 
To  hand  her  down  from  the  volant^ ! 


68  MIRALDA. 

XII. 

"  All !  —  coward  !  "  cried  the  angry  maid  ; 

"  This  scurvy  trick  !  —  if  Tacon  knew  it, 
Your  precious  <  Captain,'  I  'm  afraid,   ' 
Would  miss,  for  once,  his  dress-parade  ! 

Release  me,  Count,  or  you  may  rue  it !  " 

xm. 
"  Nay,"  said  the  Count,  "  that  may  not  be ; 

I  cannot  let  you  go  at  present ; 
I  '11  lock  you  up  awhile,"  said  he ; 
"  If  you  are  lonely,  send  for  me  ; 

I  '11  try  to  make  your  prison  pleasant." 

XIV. 

Poor  Pedro  !  guess  the  lad's  dismay  — 

His  stark  astonishment  at  learning 
His  lady-love  had  gone  away, 
(But  how  or  whither  none  could  say,) 
And  left  no  word  about  returning,! 


MIRALDA.  69 

XV. 
The  man  who  wrote  that  "  Love  is  blind  " 

Could  ne'er  have  known  a  genuine  lover ; 
Poor  Pedro  gave  his  anxious  mind 
Miralda's  hiding-place  to  find, 

And  found  it  ere  the  day  was  over ! 

XVI. 

Clad  in  a  friar's  garb,  he  hies 

At  night  to  where  his  love  is  hidden, 
And,  favored  by  his  grave  disguise, 
He  learns  that  she  is  safe,  —  and  flies, 
As  he  had  entered,  unforbidden. 

XVII. 

What  could  he  do  ?  he  pondered  long 

On  every  plausible  suggestion  ; 
Alas !  the  rich  may  do  a  wrong, 
And  buy  their  quittance  with  a  song, 

If  any  dare  the  deed  to  question  ! 


70  MIRALDA. 

XVIII. 
"  Yet  Rumor  whispered  long  ago, 

(Although  she  's  very  fond  of  lying,) 
6  Tacon  loves  justice  ! '  —  may  be  so  ; 
Quien  sale  ?  —  Let  his  answer  show  !  — 

I  '11  go  and  see,  —  it  is  but  trying  !  " 

XIX. 

And,  faith,  the  boatman  kept  his  word ; 

To  Tacon  he  the  tale  related, 
Which,  when  the  Governor  had  heard, 
With  righteous  wrath  his  breast  was  stirred. 

"  Swear,  boy,"  he  said,  "  to  what  you  Ve 
stated  !  " 

xx. 
He  took  the  oath,  and  straight  began 

For  speedy  justice  to  implore  him  : 
Great  Tacon  frowned,  "  Be  silent,  man !  " 
Then  called  the  guard,  —  away  they  ran,  — 

And  soon  the  culprit  stood  before  him  ! 


MIRALDA.  71 

XXI. 
Miralda  too  was  standing  near, 

To  witness  to  his  dark  transgression  ; 
"  Know  you,  my  lord,  why  you  are  here  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Excellencia,  it  is  clear 

That  I  must  plead  an  indiscretion." 

XXII. 

"  The  uniform  your  servants  wore 

In  this  affair,  —  how  came  they  by  it  ? 

Whose  sword  was  that  your  Captain  bore  ? 

The  crime  is  grave."     "  Nay,  I  implore 
Your  clemency,  —  I  can't  deny  it." 

xxm. 
"  This  damsel  here,  —  has  any  stain 

By  act  of  yours  been  put  upon  her  ?  " 
"  No,  Excellencia ;  all  in  vain 
"Were  bribes  and  threats  her  will  to  gain,  — 

I  here  declare  it  on  my.  honor  !  " 


72  MIRALDA. 

XXIV. 

"  Enough !  "  the  Governor  replied, 
And  added,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 

"  Go,  bring  a  Priest !  "     What  can  betide  ? 

To  shrive  ?  to  wed  ?  who  can  decide  ? 
All  stood  and  mused  in  silent  wonder. 

xxv. 
The  Priest  was  brought,  —  a  reverend  head, 

His  hands  with  holy  emblems  laden. 
"  Now,  Holy  Father,  please  to  wed, 
And  let  the  rite  be  quickly  sped, 

Senor  Almonte  and  this  maiden  !  " 

XXVI. 

Poor  Pedro  stood  aghast !     With  fear 

And  deep  dismay  Miralda  trembled ; 
While  Count  Almonte*,  thus  to  hear 
The  words  of  doom  that  smote  his  ear, 
His  sudden  horror  ill  dissembled  ! 


MIRALDA.  73 

XXVII. 

Too  late  !  for  in  that  presence  none 
Had  dared  a  whisper  of  negation. 
The  words  were  said,  —  the  deed  was  done,  — 
The  Church  had  joined  the  two  in  one 
Ere  they  had  breath  for  lamentation  ! 

XXVIII. 

The  Count  rode  off  with  drooping  head, 

Cursing  his  fortune  and  his  folly ; 
But  ere  a  mile  his  steed  had  sped, 
A  flash !  —  and  lo  !  —  the  Count  is  dead  !  — 
Slain  by  a  murderous  leaden  volley ! 

XXIX. 

Soon  came  the  officer  who  bore 

The  warrant  of  his  execution, 
With,  "  Excellencia,  all  is  o'er ; 
Senor  Almonte  is  no  more  ; 

Sooth  !  —  't  was  a  fearful  retribution  ! " 


74  MIRALDA. 

XXX. 

"  Now  let  the  herald,"  Tacon  said, 

"  (That  none  these  doings  may  disparage,) 

Proclaim  Senor  Almonte  dead  ; 

And  that  Miralda  take,  instead, 

His  lands,  now  hers  by  lawful  marriage  !  " 

XXXI. 

And  so  it  was  the  lovers  came 

To  happiness  beyond  their  dreaming, 
And  ever  after  blessed  the  name 
Of  him  who  spared  a  maiden's  shame, 
And  spoiled  a  villain's  wicked  scheming. 


LOVE    AND    LAW. 

A    LEGEND    OF    BOSTON. 
I. 

JACK  NEWMAN  was  in  love ;  a  common 
case 
With   boys    just  verging  upon    manhood's 

prime, 
When  every  damsel  with  a  pretty  face 

Seems  some  bright  creature  from  a  purer 

clime, 

Sent  by  the  gods  to  bless  a  country  town ; 
A  pink-cheeked  angel  in  a  muslin  gown. 

n. 

Jack  was  in  love  ;  and  also  much  in  doubt, 
(As  thoughtful  lovers  oft  have  been  before,) 


76  LOVE  AND  LAW. 

If  it  were  better  to  be  in  or  out,  — 

Such   pain   alloyed  his  bliss.     On  reason's 

score, 

Perhaps  'tis  equally  a  sin  to  get 
Too  deep  in  love,  in  liquor,  or  in  debt. 

m. 

The  lady  of  his  love,  Miss  Mary  Blank, 
(I  call  her  so  to  hide  her  real  name,) 
Was  fair  and  twenty,  and  in  social  rank, — 
That    is,     in     riches,  —  much     above    her 

"  flame  "  ; 

The  daughter  of  a  person  who  had  tin, 
Already  won  ;  while  Jack  had  his  to  win. 

IV. 

Her  father  was  a  lawyer ;  rather  rusty 

In  legal  lore,  but  one  who  well  had  striven 

In  former  days  to  swell  his  "  res  angustce  " 
To   broad  possessions ;   and,  in   short,   had 
thriven 


LOVE  AND  LAW.  77 

Bravely  in  his  vocation ;  though,  the  fact  is, 
More  by  his   "  practices "   ('t  was   said)   than 
practice ! 

v. 
A  famous  man  was  Blank  for  sound  advice 

In  doubtful  cases  ;  for  example,  where 
The  point  in  question  is  extremely  nice, 
And  turns  upon  the  section  of  a  hair ; 
Or  where  —  which    seems    a    very    common 

bother  — 
Justice  looks  one  way,  and  the  Law  another. 

VI. 

Great  was  his  skill  to  make  or  mar  a  plot ; 

To  prop,  at  need,  a  rotten  reputation, 
Or  undermine  a  good  one ;  he  had  got 

By  heart  the  subtle  science  of  evasion, 
And  knew  the  useful  art  to  pick  a  flaw 
Through  which  a  rascal  might  escape  the  law. 


78  LOVE  AND  LAW. 

VII. 

Jack  was  his  pupil ;  and  't  is  rather  queer 
So  shrewd  a  counsellor  did  not  discover, 

With  all  his  cunning  both  of  eye  and  ear, 
That  this  same  pupil  was  his  daughter's  lover ; 

And  —  what   would   much  have   shocked  his 
legal  tutor  — 

Was  even  now  the  girl's  accepted  suitor ! 

vm. 

Fearing  a  non-suit,  if  the  lawyer  knew 

The  case  too  soon,  Jack  kept  it  to  himself, — 

And,  stranger  still,  the  lady  kept  it  too ; 
For  well  he  knew  the  father's  pride  of  pelf, 

Should  e'en  a  bare  suspicion  cross  his  mind, 

Would  soon  abate  the  action  they  designed. 

IX. 

For  Jack  was  impecunious  ;  and  Blank 

Had  small  regard  for  people  who  were  poor ; 


LOVE  AND  LAW.  79 

Riches  to  him  were  beauty,  grace,  and  rank : 

In  short,  the  man  was  one  of  many  more 
Who  worship  money-bags  and  those  who  own 

'em, 
And  think  a  handsome  sum  the  summum  bonum. 

x. 
I  'm  fond  of  civil  words,  and  do  not  wish 

To  be  satirical ;  but  none  despise 
The  poor  so  truly  as  the  nouveaux  riche  ; 

And  here,  no  doubt,  the  real  reason  lies, 
That  being  over-proud  of  what  they  are, 
They  're  naturally  ashamed  of  what  they  were. 

XI. 

Certain  to  meet  the  father's  cold  negation. 
Jack  dare  not  ask  him  for  his  daughter's 
hand ; 

What  should  he  do  ?    'T  was  surely  an  occasion 
For  all  the  wit  a  lover  might  command  ; 


80  LOVE  AND  LAW. 

At  last  he  chose  (it  seemed  his  only  hope) 
That  final  card  of  Cupid,  —  to  elope ! 


XII. 

A  pretty  plan  to  please  a  penny-a-liner  ; 

But  far  less  pleasant  for  the  leading  factor, 
Should  the  fair  maiden  chance  to  be  a  minor, 

(Whom  the  law  reckons  an  unwilling  actor,) 
And  here  Jack  found  a  rather  sad  obstruction, — 
He  might  be  caught  and  punished  for  abduction. 


XIII. 

What  could  he  do?     Well, — here  is  what  he 
did, 

As  a  "  moot-case  "  to  Lawyer  Blank  he  told 
The  whole  affair,  save  that  the  names  were  hid ; 

I  can't  help  thinking  it  was  rather  bold, 
But  Love  is  partial  to  heroic  schemes, 
And  often  proves  much  wiser  than  he  seems. 


LOVE  A3D  LAW.  81 

XIV. 

"  The  thing  is  safe  enough,  with  proper  care," 
Observed    the   lawyer,   smiling.      "  Here  's 
your  course :  — 

Just  let  the  lady  manage  the  affair 

Throughout ;    Videlicet,  she  gets  the  horse, 

And  mounts  him,  unassisted,  first ;  but  mind, 

The  woman  sits  before,  and  you,  behind ! 

xv. 
"  Then  who  is  the  abductor  ?  —  Just  suppose 

A  court  and  jury  looking  at  the  case ; 
What  ground  of  action  do  the  facts  disclose  ? 
They  find  a  horse,  —  two  riders,  —  and  a 

race, — 

And  you  '  Not  Guilty ' ;  for  't  is  clearly  true 
The  dashing  damsel  ran  away  with  you ! " 

XVI. 

#  *  *  *  * 

4*  r 


82  LOVE  AND  LAW.   ' 

XVII. 

These  social  sins  are  often  rather  grave ; 

I  give  such  deeds  no  countenance  of  mine  ; 
.  Nor  can  I  say  the  father  e'er  forgave ; 

But  that  was  surely  a  propitious  "  sign," 
On  which  (in  after  years)  the  words  I  saw 
Were,  "  BLANK  AND  NEWMAN,  COUNSELLORS  AT 
LAW!" 


SOME     PENCIL-PICTURES: 

TAKEN   AT   SARATOGA.  » 

I. 

YOUR  novel-writefs  make  their  ladies  tall ; 
I  mean  their  heroines  ;  as  if,  indeed, 
It  were  a  fatal  failing  to  be  small. 

In  this,  I  own,  we  are  not  well  agreed,  — 
I  like  a  little  woman,  if  she  's  pretty, 
Modest  and  clever,  sensible  and  witty. 


ii. 
And  such  is  she  who  sits  beside  me  ;  fair 

As  her  deportment ;  mine  is  not  the  pen 
To  paint  the  glory  of  her  Saxon  hair, 

And  eyes  of  heavenly  azure  !    There  are  men 


84  SOME  PENCIL-PICTISEES. 

Who  doat  on  raven  tresses,  and  are  fond 
Of  dark  complexions,  —  I  adore  a  blonde  ! 

m. 
There  sits  a  woman  of  another  type  ; 

Superbnn  figure  and  of  stately  size  ; 
An  Amazonian  beauty  round  and  ripe 

As  Cytherea,  —  with  delicious  eyes 
That  laugh  or  languish  with  a  shifting  hue 
Somewhat  between  a  hazel  and  a  blue. 


IV. 

Across  the  room  —  to  please  a  daintier  taste  — 
A  slender  damsel  flits  with  fairy  tread  ; 

A  lover's  hand  might  span  her  little  waist, 
If  so  inclined,  —  that  is,  if  they  were  wed. 

Some  youths  admire  those  fragile  forms,  I  've 
heard ; 

I  never  saw  the  man,  upon  my  word ! 


SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES.  85 

V. 

But  styles  of  person,  though  they  please  me  more, 
(As  Nature's  work)  excite  my  wonder  less 

Than  all  my  curious  vision  may  explore 

In  moods  and  manners,  equipage  and  dress  ; 

The  last  alone  were  theme  enough,  indeed, 

For  more  than  I  could  write,  or  you  would  read. 

VI. 

i 

Swift  satirized  mankind  with  little  ruth, 

And  womankind  as  well ;  but  we  must  own 
His  words  of  censure  oft  are  very  truth,  — 

For  instance,  where  the  satirist  has  shown 
How  —  thankless  for  the  gifts  which  they  have 

got  — 
All  strive  to  show  the  talents  they  —  have  not ! 

VII. 

Thus  (it  is  written)  Frederick  the  Great 
Cared  little  for  the  battles  he  had  fought, 


86  SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES. 

But  listened  eagerly  and  all-elate 

To  hear  a  courtier  praise  the  style  and  thought 
That  graced  his  Sonnets ;  tho'  in  fact,  his  verse 
(I  've  tried  to  read  it)  could  n't  well  be  worse ! 

vm. 
The  like  absurd  ambition  you  may  note 

In  fashionable  women.     Look  you  there  ! 
Observe  an  arm  which  all  (but  she)  must  vote 

Extremely  ugly,  —  so  she  keeps  it  bare 
(Lest  so  much  beauty  should  escape  the  light) 
From  wrist  to  shoulder,  morning,  noon,  and 
night ! 

ix.   * 

Observe  again  (the  girl  who  stands  alone) 
How  Pride  reveals  what  Prudence  would  sup 
press  ; 

A  mere  anatomy  of  skin-and-bone,  — 
She  wears,  of  course,  a  decollete  dress  ! 


SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES.  87 

Those  tawny  angles  seek  no  friendly  screen, 
But  court  the  day,  and  glory  to  be  seen  ! 

•        • 

x. 

0  Robert  Burns  !  if  such  a  thing  might  be, 
That  all  by  ignorance  or  folly  blind, 

For  once  should  "  see  themselves  as  others  see," 
(As  thou  didst  pray  for  hapless  human  kind,) 

"What  startled  crowds  would  madly  rush  to  hide 

The  dearest  objects  of  their  fondest  pride  ! 


ODE   TO   THE   PRINCE   OF  WALES. 

INVITING    HIS    ROYAL    HIGHNESS    TO  A   COUNTRY    COTTAGE. 

O  PRINCE  of  Wales  ! 
Unless  my  judgment  fails, 
You  Ve  found  your  recent  travel  rather  dreary ; 
I  don't  expect  an  answer  to  the  query,  — 

But  are  n't  you  getting  weary  ? 
Weary  of  Bells,  and  Balls,  and  grand  Addresses  ? 
Weary  of  Military  and  their  messes  ? 
Weary  of  adulation  and  caresses  ? 
Weary  of  shouts  from  the  admiring  masses  ? 
Weary  of  worship  from  the  upper  classes  ? 
Weary  of  horses,  may'rs,  and  asses  ? 


PRINCE  OF 

Of  course  't  was  kindly  meant,  — 

But  don't  you  now  repent 

Your  good  Mamma's  consent 
That  you  should  be, 
This  side  the  sea, 

The  "  British  Lion  "  which  you  represent  ? 
Pray  leave  your  city  courtiers  and  their  capers, 
And  come  to  us  ;  we  've  no  pictorial  papers : 
And  no  Reporters  to  distort  your  nose ; 
Or  mark  the  awkward  carriage  of  your  toes ; 
Your  style  of  sneezing,  and  such  things  as  those ; 
Or,  meaner  still,  in  democratic  spite, 
Measure  your  Royal  Highness  by  your  height ! 

Then  come  to  us  ! 

We  're  not  the  sort  of  folk  to  make  a  fuss, 
E'en  for  the  PRESIDENT,  —  but  then,  my  boy, 
We  plumply  promise  you  a  special  joy, 

To  Princes  rarely  known, 
(And  one  you  '11  never  find  about  a  throne,) 


90   ODE  TO  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 

To  wit,  the  bliss  of  being  let  alone  ! 

No  scientific  bores  from  Athenaeums  ; 

No  noisy  guns,  nor  tedious  te-deums, 

Shall  vex  your  Royal  Highness  for  a  minute ; 

A  glass  of  lemonade,  with  "  something  in  it," 

A  fragrant  meerschaum,  with  the  morning  news, 

Or  sweet  Virginia  "  fine-cut," — if  you  choose, — 

These,  and  what  else  your  Highness  may  demand 

Of  simple  luxury,  shall  be  at  hand, 

And  at  your  royal  service.     Come  ! 

0  come  where  you  may  gain 

(What  advertisers  oft  have  sought  in  vain) 

"  The  comforts  of  a  home  !  " 
Come,  Prince  of  Wales !  —  we  greatly  need 
Your  royal  presence,  Sir,  —  we  do  indeed : 
For  why  ?  —  we  have  a  pretty  hamlet  here, 
But  then,  you  see,  't  is  equally  as  clear 
(Your    Highness   understands   Shakespearian 

hints) 
A  Hamlet  is  n't  much  without  a  Prince  ! 


WHEN    I    MEAN   TO    MARRY. 

WHEN  do  I  mean  to  marry  ?  — Well,  — 
'T  is  idle  to  dispute  with  fate  ; 
But  if  you  choose  to  hear  me  tell, 
Pray  listen  while  I  fix  the  date. 

When  daughters  haste,  with  eager  feet, 

A  mother's  daily  toil  to  share  ; 
Can  make  the  puddings  which  they  eat, 

And  mend  the  stockings  which  they  wear  ; 

When  maidens  look  upon  a  man 

As  in  himself  what  they  would  marry, 

And  not  as  army-soldiers  scan 
A  sutler  or  a  commissary ; 


92  WHEN  I  MEAN  TO  MARRY. 

When  gentle  ladies,  who  have  got 

The  offer  of  a  lover's  hand, 
Consent  to  share  his  earthly  lot, 

And  do  not  mean  his  lot  of  land ; 

When  young  mechanics  are  allowed 
To  find  and  wed  the  farmers'  girls 

Who  don't  expect  to  be  endowed 
With  rubies,  diamonds,  and  pearls ; 

When  wives,  in  short,  shall  freely  give 
Their  hearts  and  hands  to  aid  their  spouses, 

And  live  as  they  were  wont  to  live 
Within  their  sires'  one-story  houses  ; 

Then,  madam,  —  if  I  'm  not  too  old,  — 
Rejoiced  to  quit  this  lonely  life, 

I  '11  brush  my  beaver ;  cease  to  scold ; 
And  look  about  me  for  a  wife  ! 


ABOUT    HUSBANDS. 

"  A  man  is,  in  general,  better  pleased  when  he  has  a  good  dinner  upon 
his  table,  than  when  his  wife  speaks  Greek."  —  SAM.  JOHNSON. 

JOHNSON  was  right.     I  don't  agree  to  all. 
The  solemn   dogmas  of  the  rough  old 

stager ; 

But  very  much  approve  what  one  may  call 
The  minor  morals  of  the  "  Ursa  Major." 

Johnson  was  right.    Although  some  men  adore 
Wisdom  in  woman,  and  with  learning  cram 
her, 

There  is  n't  one  in  ten  but  thinks  far  more 
Of  his  own  grub  than  of  his  spouse's  grammar. 


94  ABOUT  HUSBANDS. 

I  know  it  is  the  greatest  shame  in  life ; 

But  who  among  them  (save,  perhaps,  myself) 
Returning  hungry  home,  but  asks  his  wife 

What  beef — not  books  —  she  has  upon  the 
shelf? 

Though  Greek  and  Latin  be  the  lady's  boast, 
They  're  little  valued  by  her  loving  mate ; 

The  kind  of  tongue  that  husbands  relish  most 
Is  modern,  boiled,  and  served  upon  a  plate. 

Or  if,  as  fond  ambition  may  command, 

Some  home-made  verse  the  happy  matron 
show  him, 

What  mortal  spouse  but  from  her  dainty  hand 
Would  sooner  see  a  pudding  than  a  poem  ? 

Young    lady,  —  deep    in   love   with   Tom   or 

Harry,  — 
'T  is  sad  to  tell  you  such  a  tale  as  this ; 


ABOUT  HUSBANDS.  95 

But  here 's  the  moral  of  it :  Do  not  marry  ; 
Or,  marrying,  take  your  lover  as  he  is,  — 

A  very  man,  —  with  something  of  the  brute, 
(Unless  he  prove  a  sentimental  noddy,) 

With  passions  strong  and  appetite  to  boot,  — 
A  thirsty  soul  within  a  hungry  body. 

A  very  man,  —  not  one  of  nature's  clods, — 
With  human  failings,  whether  saint  or  sinner ; 

Endowed,  perhaps,  with  genius  from  the  gods, 
But  apt  to  take  his  temper  from  his  dinner. 


THE    SUPERFLUOUS    MAN. 

It  is  ascertained  by  inspection  of  the  registers  of  many  countries,  that 
the  uniform  proportion  of  male  to  female  births  is  as  21  to  20 :  accordingly, 
in  respect  to  marriage,  every  21st  man  is  naturally  superfluous.  —  TREATISE 
ON  POPULATION. 

I    LONG  have  been  puzzled  to  guess, 
And  so  I  have  frequently  said, 
What  the  reason  could  really  be 

That  I  never  have  happened  to  wed ; 
But  now  it  is  perfectly  clear 
I  am  under  a  natural  ban ; 
The  girls  are  already  assigned,  — 
And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

Those  clever  statistical  chaps 
Declare  the  numerical  run 


THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN.  97 

Of  women  and  men  in  the  world, 
Is  Twenty  to  Twenty-and-one ; 

And  hence  in  the  pairing,  you  see, 
Since  wooing  and  wedding  began, 

For  every  connubial  score, 

They  've  got  a  superfluous  man ! 

By  twenties  and  twenties  they  go, 

And  giddily  rush  to  their  fate, 
For  none  of  the  number,  of  course, 

Can  fkil  of  a  conjugal  mate  ; 
But  while  they  are  yielding  in  scores 

To  Nature's  inflexible  plan, 
There 's  never  a  woman  for  me,  — 

For  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

It  is  n't  that  I  am  a  churl, 

To  solitude  over-inclined ; 
It  is  n't  that  I  am  at  fault 

In  morals  or  manners  or  mind'; 

5  Q 


98  THE   SUPERFLUOUS  MAN. 

Then  what  is  the  reason,  you  ask, 
I  'm  still  with  the  bachelor-clan  ? 

I  merely  was  numbered  amiss,  — 
And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

It  is  n't  that  I  am  in  want 

Of  personal  beauty  or  grace, 
For  many  a  man  with  a  wife 

Is  uglier  far  in  the  face ; 
Indeed,  among  elegant  men 

I  fancy  myself  in  the  van ; 
But  what  is  the  value  of  that, 

When  I  'm  a  superfluous  man  ? 

Although  I  am  fond  of  the  girls, 
For  aught  I  could  ever  discern 

The  tender  emotion  I  feel 

Is  one  that  they  never  return ; 

'T  is  idle  to  quarrel  with  fate, 
For,  struggle  as  hard  as  I  can, 


THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN.  99 

They  're  mated  already,  you  know,  — 
And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

No  wonder  I  grumble  at  times, 

With  women  so  pretty  and  plenty, 
To  know  that  I  never  was  born 

To  figure  as  one  of  the  Twenty ; 
But  yet,  when  the  average  lot 

With  critical  vision  I  scan, 
I  think  it  may  be  for  the  best 

That  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 


O 


TIME    AND    LOVE. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

LD  Time  and  young  Love,  on  a  morning 

in  May, 
Chanced    to  meet    by  a  river  in  halcyon 

weather, 
And,  agreeing,  for  once,  ('t  is  a  fable,  you  '11 

say,) 

In  the  same  little  boat  made  a  voyage  to 
gether. 


Strong,  steady,  and  patient,  Time  pulled  at  his 

oar, 
And  swift  o'er  the  water  the  voyagers  go ; 


TIME  AND  LOVE.  101 

But  Love  —  who  was  thinking  of  Pleasure  on 

shore  — 

Complained  that  his  boatman  was  wretchedly 
slow. 

But  Time,  the  old  sailor,  expert  at  his  trade, 
And  knowing  the  leagues  that  remained  to 
be  done, 

Content  with  the  regular  speed  that  he  made, 
Tugged  away  at  his  oar  and  kept  steadily  on. 

Love,  always  impatient  of  doubt  or  delay, 
Now  sighed  for  the  aid  of  the  favoring  gales, 

And  scolded  at  Time,  in  the  sauciest  way, 
For  not  having  furnished  the  shallop  with 
sails. 

But  Time,  as  serene  as  a  calendar  saint, 

(Whatever  the  graybeard  was  thinking  upon,) 

All-deaf  to  the  voice  of  the  younker's  complaint, 
Tugged  away  at  his  oar  and  kept  steadily  on. 


102  TIME  AND  LOVE 

Love,  vexed  at  the  heart,  only  clamored  the 

more, 
And  cried,  "  By  the  gods !  in  what  country 

or  clime 

Was  ever  a  lubber  who  handled  an  oar 
In  so  lazy  a  fashion  as  old  Father  Time  1 " 

But  Time  only  smiled  in  a  cynical  way, 

('T  is  often  the  mode  with  your  elderly  Don,) 

As  one  who  knows  more  than  he  cares  to  display, 
And  still  at  his  oar  pulled  steadily  on. 

Grown  calmer,  at  last,  the  exuberant  boy 
Enlivens  the  minutes  with  snatches  of  rhyme ; 

The  voyage,  at  length,  he  begins  to  enjoy, 
And  soon  has  forgotten  the  presence  of  Time ! 

But  Time,  the  severe,  egotistical  elf, 

Since  the  day  that  his  travels  he  entered  upon, 

Has  ne'er  for  a  moment  forgotten  himself, 
But  tugs  at  his  oar  and  keeps  steadily  on. 


TIME  AND  LOVE.  103 

Awaking,  once  more.  Love  sees  with  a  sigh 
That  the  River  of  Life  will  be  presently  passed, 

And  now  he  breaks  forth  with  a  piteous  cry, 
"  0  Time,  gentle  Time  !  you  are  rowing  too 
fast!" 

But  Time,  well  knowing  that  Love  will  be  dead, 
Dead,  —  dead !  in  the  boat !  —  ere  the  voyage 
is  done, 

Only  gives  him  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head, 
While  he  tugs  at  his  oar  and  keeps  steadily  on ! 


THE  HEART   AND   THE   LIVER. 


MUSINGS   OF   A   DYSPEPTIC. 


SHE  'S  broken-hearted,  I  have  heard, 
Whate'er  may  be  the  reason ; 
(Such  things  will  happen  now  and  then 

In  Love's  tempestuous  season  ;) 
But  still  I  marvel  she  should  show 

No  plainer  outward  token, 
If  such  a  vital  inward  part 
Were  very  badly  broken ! 


n. 


She  's  broken-hearted,  I  am  told, 
And  so,  of  course,  believe  it ; 


THE  HEART  AND  THE  LIVER.      105 

When  truth  is  fairly  certified 

I  modestly  receive  it ; 
But  after  such  an  accident, 

It  surely  is  a  blessing  ; 
It  does  n't  in  the  least  impair 

Her  brilliant  style  of  dressing ! 

m. 
She  's  broken-hearted :  who  can  doubt 

The  noisy  voice  of  Rumor  ? 
And  yet  she  seems  —  for  such  a  wreck  — 

In  no  unhappy  humor  ; 
She  sleeps  (I  hear)  at  proper  hours, 

When  other  folks  are  dozy ; 
Her  eyes  are  sparkling  as  of  yore, 

And  still  her  cheeks  are  rosy ! 

IV. 

She 's  broken-hearted,  and  they  say 
She  never  can  recover  ; 

5* 


106       THE   HEART  AND   THE  LIVER. 

And  then  —  in  not  the  mildest  way  — 
They  blame  some  fickle  lover ; 

I  know  she  's  dying  —  by  degrees  — 
But,  sure  as  I  'm  a  sinner, 

I  saw  her  eat,  the  other  day, 
A  most  prodigious  dinner ! 

v. 
Alas  !  that  I,  in  idle  rhyme, 

Should  e'er  profanely  question 
(As  I  have  done  while  musing  o'er 

My  chronic  indigestion) 
If  one  should  not  receive  the  blow 

With  blessings  on  the  Giver, 
That  only  falls  upon  the  heart, 

And  kindly  spares  the  LIVER  ! 


THE   BEAUTY   OF   BALLSTON. 
(AFTER   PRAED.) 

IN  Ballston  —  once  a  famous  spot, 
Ere  Saratoga  came  in  fashion  — 
I  had  a  transient  fit  of  what 

The  poets  call  the  "tender  passion "  ; 
In  short,  when  I  was  young  and  gay, 

And  Fancy  held  the  throne  of  Reason, 
I  fell  in  love  with  Julia  May, 

The  reigning  beauty  of  the  season. 


Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  such  a  pair !  — 
No  star  in  heaven  was  ever  brighter  ; 

Her  skin  was  most  divinely  fair ; 
I  never  saw  a  shoulder  whiter. 


108        THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON. 

And  there  was  something  in  her  form, 
(An  en-bon-point,  I  think  they  term  it,) 

That  really  was  enough  to  warm 
The  icy  bosom  of  a  hermit ! 

In  sooth,  she  was  a  witching  girl, 

And  even  women  called  her  pretty, 
Who  saw  her  in  the  waltz's  whirl, 

Beneath  the  glare  of  spermaceti ; 
Or  if  they  carped  —  as  Candor  must 

When  wounded  jpride  and  envy  rankle  — 
'T  was  only  that  so  full  a  bust 

Should  heave  above  so  trim  an  ankle  ! 

One  eve,  remote  from  festive  mirth, 

We  talked  of  Nature  and  her  treasures ; 

I  said :  —  "Of  all  the  joys  of  earth, 

Pray  name  the  sweetest  of  her  pleasures." 

She  gazed  with  rapture  at  the  moon 

That     struggled     through     the     spreading 
beeches,  — 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON.        109 

And  answered  thus :  —  "A  grove  —  at  noon  — 
A  friend  —  and  lots  of  cream  and  peaches !  " 

I  spoke  of  trees,  —  the  stately  oak 

That  stands  the  forest's  royal  leader ; 
The  whispering  pine  ;  and  then  I  spoke 

Of  Lebanon's  imperial  cedar ; 
The  maple  of  our  colder  clime  ; 

The  elm  with  branches  intermeeting,  — 
She  thought  the  palm  must  be  sublime, 

And  —  dates  were  very  luscious  eating ! 

I  talked  about  the  sea  and  sky, 

And  spoke,  with  something  like  emotion, 
Of  countless  pearly  gems  that  lie 

Ungathered  by  the  sounding  ocean. 
She  smiled,  and  said,  (was  it  in  jest  ?) 

Of  all  the  shells  that  Nature  boasted 
She  thought  that  oysters  were  the  best, 

"  And,  dearest,  don't  you  love  'em  roasted !  " 


110        THE  BEAUTY   OF  BALLSTON. 

I  talked  of  books  and  classic  lore ; 

I  spoke  of  Cooper's  latest  fiction. 
Recited  melodies  from  Moore, 

And  lauded  Irvings's  charming  diction  ;  — 
She  sat  entranced  ;  then  raised  her  head, 

And  with  a  smile  that  seemed  of  heaven, 
"  We  must  return,"  the  siren  said, 

"  Or  we  shall  lose  the  lunch  at  'leven !  " 

I  can't  describe  the  dreadful  shock, 

The  mingled  sense  of  love  and  pity, 
With  which,  next  day,  at  ten  o'clock, 

I  started  for  Manhattan  city ; 
'T  was  years  ago  —  that  sad  "  Good  bye," 

Yet  o'er  the  scene  fond  memory  lingers ; 
I  see  the  crystals  in  her  eye, 

And  berry-stains  upon  her  fingers ! 

Ah  me !  of  so  much  loveliness 

It  had  been  sweet  to  be  the  winner ; 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON.         HI 

I  know  she  loved  me  only  less  — 

The  merest  fraction  —  than  her  dinner  ; 

'T  was  hard  to  lose  so  fair  a  prize, 

But  then  (I  thought)  't  were  vastly  harder 

To  have  before  my  jealous  eyes 
A  constant  rival  in  my  larder ! 


TOUJOURS    LES    FEMMES. 

I  THINK  it  was  a  Persian  king 
Who  used  to  say,  that  evermore 
In  human  life  each  evil  thing 

Comes  of  the  sex  that  men  adore  ; 
That  naught,  in  brief,  had  e'er  befell 

To  harm  or  grieve  our  hapless  race, 
But,  if  you  probe  the  matter  well, 
You  '11  find  a  woman  in  the  case  ! 

And  then  the  curious  tale  is  told 
How,  when  upon  a  certain  night 

A  climbing  youngster  lost  his  hold, 
And  falling  from  a  ladder's  height, 


TOU JOURS  LES  FEMMES.  113 

Was  found,  alas  !  next  morning  dead, 

His  Majesty,  with  solemn  face, 
As  was  his  wont,  demurely  said, 

"  Pray,  who  's  the  woman  in  the  case  ?  " 

And  how  a  lady  of  his  court, 

Who  deemed  the  royal  whim  absurd, 
Rebuked  him,  while  she  made  report 

Of  the  mischance  that  late  occurred  ; 
Whereat  the  king  replied  in  glee, 

"  I  've  heard  the  story,  please  your  Grace, 
And  all  the  witnesses  agree 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  case  !  " 

"  The  truth,  your  Ladyship,  is  this, 

(Nor  is  it  marvellous  at  all) 
The  chap  was  climbing  for  a  kiss, 

And  got,  instead,  a  fatal  fall. 
Whene'er  a  man  —  as  I  have  said  — 

Falls  from  a  ladder,  or  from  grace, 


114  TOUJOURS  LES  FEMMES. 

Or  breaks  his  faith,  or  breaks  his  head, 
There  is  a  woman  in  the  case  !  " 


For  such  a  churlish,  carping  creed 

As  that  his  Majesty  professed, 
I  hold  him  of  unkingly  breed,  — 

Unless,  in  sooth,  he  spoke  in  jest. 
To  me,  few  things  have  come  to  pass 

Of  good  event,  but  I  can  trace,  — 
Thanks  to  the  matron  or  the  lass, — 

Somewhere,  a  woman  in  the  case. 

Yet  once,  while  gayly  strolling  where 

A  vast  Museum  still  displays 
It 's  varied  wealth  of  strange  and  rare, 

To  charm,  or  to  repel,  the  gaze,  — 
I  —  to  a  lady  (who  denied 

The  creed  by  laughing  in  my  face)  — 
Took  up,  for  once,  the  Persian's  side 

About  a  woman  in  the  case. 


TOU JOURS  LES  FEMMES.  115 

Discoursing  thus,  we  came  upon 

A  grim  Egyptian  mummy  —  dead    •• 
Some  centuries  since.    "  'T  is  Pharaoh's  son  — 

Perhaps  —  who  knows  ?  "  —  the  lady  said. 
No  !  —  on  the  black  sarcophagus 

A  female  name  I  stooped  to  trace  ; 
Toujours  les  femmes  !  —  'T  is  ever  thus  — 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  case! 


THE  STAMMERING  WIFE. 

I. 

T,  deeply  in  love  with  Miss  Emily 
Pryne, 

I  vowed,  if  the  maiden  would  only  be  mine, 
I  would  always  endeavor  to  please  her,  — 
She  blushed  her  consent,  tho'  the  stuttering 

lass 

Said  never  a  word,  except  "You  're  an  ass  — 
An  ass  —  an  ass-iduous  teaser!  " 

n. 

But  when  we  were  married  I  found  to  my  ruth 
The  stammering  lady  had  spoken  the  truth, 
For  often,  in  obvious  dudgeon, 


THE  STAMMERING    WIFE.  117 

She  'd  say,  —  if  I  ventured  to  give  her  a  jog 
In  the  way  of  reproof,  —  "  You  're  a  dog  — 

you  're  a  dog  — 
A  dog  —  a  dog-matic  curmudgeon ! " 

m. 

And  once  when  I  said,  "  We  can  hardly  afford 
This   extravagant   style,   with    our    moderate 

hoard, 

And  hinted  we  ought  to  be  wiser, 
She  looked,  I  assure  you,  exceedingly  blue, 
And  fretfully  cried,  "  You  're  a  Jew — you're 

a  Jew  — 
A  very  ju-dicious  adviser !  " 

IV. 

Again,  when  it  happened  that,  wishing  to  shirk 
Some  rather  unpleasant  and  arduous  work, 

I  begged  her  to  go  to  a  neighbor, 
She  wanted  to  know  why  I  made  such  a  fuss, 


118  THE   STAMMERING    WIFE. 

And   saucily   said,   "You're  a   cus  —  cus  — 

cus  — 
You  were  'always  ac-cus-tomed  to  labor ! " 

v. 

Out  of  temper  at  last  with  the  insolent  dame, 
And  feeling  that  Madam  was  greatly  to  blame 

To  scold  me  instead  of  caressing, 
I  mimicked  her  speech  —  like  a  churl  as  I  am  — 
And  angrily  said,  "  You  're  a  dam  —  dam  — 

dam  — 
A  dam-age  instead  of  a  blessing ! " 


NIL    ADMIRARI. 

I. 

WHEN  Horace  in  Vendusian  groves 
Was  scribbling  wit  or  sipping  "  Massic,' 
Or  singing  those  delicious  loves 

Which  after  ages  reckon  classic, 
He  wrote  one  day  —  't  was  no  vagary  — 
These  famous  words  :  —  Nil  admirari  ! 

n. 
"  Wonder  at  nothing !  "  —  said  the  bard  ; 

A  kingdom's  fall,  a  nation's  rising, 
A  lucky  or  a  losing  card, 

Are  really  not  at  all  surprising, 
However  men  or  manners  vary, 
Keep  cool  and  calm ;  Nil  admirari ! 


120  NIL  ADMIRARL 

III. 
If  kindness  meet  a  cold  return ; 

If  friendship  prove  a  dear  delusion ; 
If  love,  neglected,  cease  to  burn, 

Or  die  untimely  of  profusion,  — 
Such  lessons  well  may  make  us  wary, 
But  need  n't  shock  ;  Nil  admirari! 

I*. 

Does  disappointment  follow  gain  ? 

Or  wealth  elude  the  keen  pursuer  ? 
Does  pleasure  end  in  poignant  pain  ?. 

Does  fame  disgust  the  lucky  wooer, 
Or  haply  prove  perversely  chary  ? 
'T  was  ever  thus  ;  Nil  admirari ! 

v. 
Does  January  wed  with  May, 

Or  ugliness  consort  with  beauty  ? 
Does  Piety  forget  to  pray  ? 

And,  heedless  of  connubial  duty, 


NIL  ADMIRARI.  121 

Leave  faithful  Ann  for  wanton  Mary  ? 
'T  is  the  old  tale  ;  Nil  admirari! 

VI. 

Ah!  when  the  happy  day  we  reach 
When  promisers  are  ne'er  deceivers  ; 

When  parsons  practise  what  they  preach, 
And  seeming  saints  are  all  believers, 

Then  the  old  maxim  you  may  vary, 

And  say  no  more,  Nil  admirari  ! 


ADVICE   TO    A   YOUNG   FRIEND, 

WHO    THINKS    HE    SHOULD    LIKE    TO    BE    A    LAWYER. 

NO,  no,  my  boy !  let  others  sweat 
And  wrangle  in  the  courts ; 
Their  Pleas  are  most  unpleasing  things ; 
You  cannot  trust  Reports! 

Although  the  law  of  literature 

May  your  attention  draw, 
I  'm  very  sure  you  would  n't  like 

The  Literature  of  Law ! 

Justinian's  Novels  don't  compare 

With  those  of  Walter  Scott ; 
They  Ve  very  little  sentiment, 

And  deuce  a  bit  of  plot ! 


ADVICE   TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND.       123 

When  Coke  on  Littleton  came  down, 

He  served  him  right ;  but  who 
Would  say  it  were  a  civil  thing 

To  set  them  both  on  you  ? 

In  Blackstone  there  is  much,  I  own, 

Well  worthy  of  regard  ; 
But  then,  my  boy,  like  other  stones, 

You  '11  find  him  precious  hard  ! 

Sir  William  Jones  is  very  well, 

As  every  scholar  knows  ; 
But  read,  my  lad,  his  poetry, 

And  never  mind  his  prose. 

Though  Angell  tempt  you,  heed  him  not ; 

For  Satan,  to  his  shame, 
Full  oft,  to  further  wicked  ends, 

Employs  a  seraph's  name  ! 


124     ADVICE  TO  A   YOUNG  FRIEND. 

Though  Aiken  may  be  very  wise, 

Pray  what  is  that  to  you  ? 
His  reader  will  be  apt  to  find 

That  he  is  achin'  too ! 


There  's  Story  now,  the  lawyers  say, 

Is  very  fine  indeed  ; 
I  only  know  he  's  not  the  kind 

Young  fellows  like  to  read ! 

And  as  for  Cruise,  though  much  admired, 

You  'd  better  let  him  be, 
And  use,  instead,  the  milder  sort 

That  people  take  at  sea ! 

No,  no,  my  boy  !  let  others  sweat 

And  wrangle  in  the  courts ; 
There  's  nothing  pleasing  in  a  Plea; 

You  cannot  trust  Reports  ! 


ADVICE  TO  A    YOUNG  FRIEND.      125 

Although  the  law  of  literature 

May  your  attention  draw, 
I  'm  very  sure  you  would  n't  like 

The  Literature  of  Law ! 


THE  GAME   OF   LIFE. 

A    HOMILY. 

THERE  's  a  game  much  in  fashion,  —  I 
think  it's  called  Euchre; 

(Though  I  never  have  played  it,  for  pleasure 
or  lucre,) 

In  which,  when  the  cards  are  in  certain  condi 
tions, 

The  players  appear  to  have  changed  their  posi 
tions, 

And  one  of  them  cries,  in  a  confident  tone, 

"  I  think  I  may  venture  to  go  it  alone  !  " 

While  watching  the  game,  't  is  a  whim  of  the 

bard's 
A  moral  to  draw  from  that  skirmish  of  cards, 


THE   GAME   OF  LIFE.  127 

And  to  fancy  he  finds  in  the  trivial  strife 
Some  excellent  hints  for  the  battle  of  Life ; 
Where  —  whether  the   prize   be  a  ribbon  or 

throne  — 
The  winner  is  he  who  can  go  it  alone ! 

When  great  Galileo  proclaimed  that  the  world 
In  a  regular  orbit  was  ceaselessly  whirled, 
And  got  —  not  a  convert  —  for  all  of  his  pains, 
But  only  derision  and  prison  and  chains, 
"  It  moves,  for  all  that !  "  was  his  answering 

tone, 
For  he  knew,  like  the  Earth,  he  could  go  it 

alone ! 

When  Kepler,  with  intellect  piercing  afar, 
Discovered  the  laws  of  each  planet  and  star, 
And  doctors,  who  ought  to  have  lauded  his 

name, 
Derided  his  learning,  and  blackened  his  fame, 


128  THE   GAME   OF  LIFE. 

"  I  can  wait !  "  he  replied,  "  till  the  truth  you 

shall  own  " ; 
For  he  felt  in  his  heart  he  could  go  it  alone ! 

Alas  !  for  the  player  who  idly  depends, 
In  the  struggle  of  life,  upon  kindred  or  friends ; 
Whatever  the  value  of  blessings  like  these, 
They  can  never  atone  for  inglorious  ease, 
Nor   comfort   the   coward   who   finds,  with   a 

groan, 
That  his  crutches  have  left  him  to  go  it  alone ! 

There 's  something,  no  doubt,  in  the  hand  you 

may  hold, 

Health,  family,  culture,  wit,  beauty,  and  gold 
The  fortunate  owner  may  fairly  regard 
As,  each  in  its  way,  a  most  excellent  card ; 
Yet  the  game  may  be  lost,  with  all  these  for 

your  own, 
Unless  you  Ve  the  courage  to  "  go  it  alone !  " 


, 

TBS 


Vv  //  ^ 

THE   GAME   OF  LIFE.      X129rf" 


In  battle  or  business,  whatever  the  game, 

In  law  or  in  love,  it  is  ever  the  same  ; 

In  the  struggle  for  power,  or  the  scramble  for 

pelf, 

Let  this  be  your  motto,  —  Rely  on  yourself  ! 
For,  whether  the  prize  be  a  ribbon  or  throne, 
The  victor  is  he  who  can  go  it  alone  ! 


THE   EDITOR'S   CRIME. 

WITH  a  gloomy  air, 
And  a  dreamy  stare, 
An  Editor  sits  in  his  sanctum-chair, 
Musing  like  one  in  trouble  or  doubt ; 
And  what  do  you  think  he  is  thinking  about  ? 

"  I  'm  sorely  afraid 

This  wearisome  trade 
Will  waste  me  away  to  the  veriest  shade ; 
And  force  me,  perhaps, — but  that  cannot  be  — 
A  murder  's  a  horrible  crime !  "  said  he. 

"  I  never  shirk 
Editorial  work, 
Nor  mind  the  libel  that  in  it  may  lurk ; 


THE  EDITOR'S   CRIME.  131 

Miscellaneous  matter  is  easy  to  choose  ; 
But  the  News !  —  the  News  !  —  they  will  have 
News ! 

A  leader  to  write 

Or  a  tale  to  indite, 

Is  easy  as  lying  —  that  is  n't  the  "  bite  " ; 
All  wholesome  reading  the  public  refuse ; 
'T  is  "  News !  "  —  "  News  !.  "  —  "  NEWS  !  "  — 
they  will  have  News  ! 

That 's  not  the  worst, 

My  paper  is  curs'd, 

Unless  it  is  crammed,  till  it 's  ready  to  burst, 
With  doings  at  which  humanity  quails,  — 
Rapes,  Riots  and  Murders,  with  all  the  details ! 

A  bloodless  row, 
Or  a  five-legged  cow, 
Is  quite  too  tame  for  an  item  now ; 


132  THE  EDITOR'S   CRIME. 

«  News,"  —  "  News,"  —  "  NEWS  !  "  —  is  still  the 

song, 
And  then  they  will  have  it  so  horribly  strong ! 

'T  was  but  t'  other  day 

I  heard  a  man  say, 

Be  wa'n't  to  be  done  in  so  shabby  a  way,  — 
For,  of  all  the  crimes  my  paper  could  boast, 
The  worst,  for  a  month,  was  a  "  MURDER  !  — - 
almost." 

Ah !  malheureux  ! 

'Tis  true!  — 'tis  true! 
But  what  the  deuce  can  an  Editor  do  ? 
If  crimes  won't  happen,  they  don't  suppose 
I  'm  going  to  make  'em  ?  —  (Ha !  ha  !  —  who 
knows  ?) 

I  will  —  I  won't  — 
I  dare  — I  don't!  — 


THE  EDITOR'S   CRIME.  133 

I  tremble  to  think  I  am  thinking  upon  't ! 
The  blackest  of  frowns  is  clouding  his  brow,  — 
0,  what  is  the  Editor  muttering  now  ? 

On  the  following  day, 

In  a  flaming  way, 

The  Pepperville  Post  was  "  shocked  to  say, 
Our  slumbering  city  was  roused  last  night 
By  a  startling  sound,  and  a  horrible  sight ! 

"  DIABOLICAL  CRIME  ! 

Last  night,  —  sometime,  — 
Not  far  from  the  stroke  of  the  midnight  chime, 
By  some  person  unknown,  with  a  pistol  or  gun, 
A  most  unnatural  MURDER  WAS  DONE 

"  On  Jonathan  Brown  !  — 

While  walking  down 

The  principal  street  of  our  beautiful  town,  — 
A  citizen  held  in  the  highest  regard ; 
And  the  Mayor  should  offer  a  handsome  reward 


134  THE  EDITOR'S   CRIME. 

"  For  the  infamous  wretch, 

That  the  rascal  may  stretch 

The  best  bit  of  rope  in  the  hands  of  Jack  Ketch ! 

Post  scriptum.     A  chap  has  been  lurking  about 

Whom  nobody  knows,  —  the  assassin,  no  doubt. 

"  STILL  LATER  !     'T  is  said 
That  the  murderous  lead 
Had  a  conical  shape,  and  went  quite  through  the 

head: 
H^*  Of  our  wide-awake  journal  we  don't  wish 

to  boast, 

But  no  Pepperville  print  has  the  news,  but  the 
POST!" 

I  grieve  to  tell 

Suspicion  fell 

On  the  man  who  had  told  the  story  so  well ! 
Namely,  the  Editor !  —  none  but  he 
Knew  aught  of  the  case, — who  else  could  it  be  ? 


THE  EDITOR'S   CRIME.  135 

On  looking  around, 

A  bullet  was  found 

(Of  a  conical  shape)  not  far  from  the  ground 
Whereon  it  was  known  the  murder  was  done, — 
A  bullet  that  fitted  the  Editor's  gun! 

'T  is  sad  to  relate 

How  the  merciless  State 
Doomed  him  to  suffer  a  murderer's  fate ; 
And  how  on  the  gallows  the  wicked  Editor 
Died,  —  lamented  by  many  a  creditor ! 

But  I  'm  glad  to  say 

It  was  told,  that  day, 
Such  things  are  out  of  the  usual  way, 
And,  to  the  honor  of  all  the  corps, 
Never  was  Editor  hanged  before  ! 

FIRST  MORAL. 

Don't  edit  a  journal ! 
(That  is,  a  diurnal,) 


136  THE  EDITOR'S   CRIME. 

The  labors  and  dangers  are  really  infernal ; 
And  will  drive  you,  at  last,  to  some  folly  or 

other ; 
Perhaps  to  the  fate  of  your  Pepperville  brother ! 

SECOND  MORAL. 

If  you  choose  to  regard 

Such  advice  as  too  hard, 
And  will  edit  a  Daily,  in  spite  of  the  bard, 
Go  to  Babylon,  —  where,  in  the  dullest  of  times, 
You   won't  have   occasion    to   do    your    own 
"Crimes!" 

THIRD  MORAL. 

If  you  must  have  a  bite 

At  eleven  at  night, 

Don't  eat  lobster-salad,  but  take  something  light ; 
Or,  —  crede  experto,  —  you  'd  better  beware 
Of  taking  a  nap  in  your  sanctum  chair ! 


PADDY'S  ODE  TO  THE  PRINCE. 

O   MIGHTY  Prince ! 
It 's  no  offince, 

Your  worship,  that  I  mane  ye, 
While  I  confiss 
'T  was  ra-al  bliss,    . 

A  moment  to  have  sane  ye  ! 

That  you  should  see 
The  likes  o'  me, 

The  while  I  stud  adjacent, 
I  don't  suppose, 
Although  me  clo'es 

Was  mighty  clane  and  dacent. 


138       PADDY'S   ODE   TO    THE  PRINCE. 

Av  coorse,  ye  know 
'T  was  long  ago, 

I  looked  at  Jukes  and  such  men, 
And  longer  since, 
An  English  Prince 

Begotten  by  a  Dutchman  ! 

But  by  me  troth, 
And  Bible-oath ! 

Wid  all  me  Irish  shyness, 
I  've  passed  the  word 
Wid  many  a  lord, 

Much  taller  than  your  Highness ! 

Ah!  well,  —  bedad, 
No  doubt  ye  had, 

In  token  of  allagiance, 
As  good  a  cup 
As  ye  could  sup 

Among  thim  black  Canajans  ; 


PADDTS   ODE   TO    THE  PRINCE,      139 

But  \vlia'  d'  ye  think 
Of  Christian  dlnink, 

Now  tell  me  that,  me  tulip ! 
When  through  a  sthraw 
Your  Highness  saw,*  f 

The  flavor  of  a  julep  ? 

Thim  haythen  chaps, 
The  nayger  Japs, 

Wid  all  their  curst  expinses, 
Just  tuk  their  fill, 
And  left  a  bill 

At  which  the  paple  winces ; 

But  thin,  no  doubt, 
Ye  ?11  ride  about 

Wid  BOOLE  and  all  the  Aldermen ; 


*  The  faculty  of  seeing  a  flavor  is,  of  course,  peculiarly 
Hibernian. 


140      PADDY'S   ODE   TO   THE  PRINCE. 

They  've  little  sinse, 
But,  for  expinse, 

There  's  not  a  set  of  boulder  men  ! 

FERNANDY  WUD 
Has  dacent  blood, 

And  illigant  morality ; 
And  ye  may  swear 
Our  mighty  Mayor 

Will  show  his  horsepitality  ! 

The  soldiers  all 
Are  at  his  call, 

Wid  Captains  to  parade  'em ; 
And  at  the  laste, 
Ye  '11  get  a  taste 

Of  dimmecratic  fraydem. 

But  plase  to  note, 
Ye  're  not  to  vote,  — 
A  privilege,  by  Jabers  ! 


PADDYS   ODE   TO   THE  PRINCE.       141 

Ye  could  n't  hope, 
Were  ye  the  Pope, 

Until  ye  've  got  the  papers ! 

Well,  mighty  Prince, 
Accept  these  hints ; 

Most  frayly  I  indite  'em  ; 
'T  is  luck,  indade, 
If  ye  can  rade 

As  aisy  as  I  write  'em ! 

And  when  the  throne 
Is  all  ye'r  own 

At  which  ye  're  daily  steerin', 
Remimber  what 
Some  kings  forgot,  — 

Remimber  poor  ould  Erin. 


A   CASE   OF   CONSCIENCE. 

TWO   College  Professors,  —  I   won't  give 
their  names, — 

(Call  one  of  them  Jacob,  the  other  one,  James,) 
Two  College  Professors,  who  ne'er  in  their  lives 
Had  wandered  before  from  the  care  of  their 

wives,  — 
One    day    in    vacation,   when    lectures    were 

through, 

And  teachers  and  students  had  nothing  to  do, 
Took  it  into  their  noddles  to  go  to  the  Races, 
To  look  at  the  nags,  and  examine  their  paces, 
And  find  out  the  meaning  of  "  bolting,"  and 

"baiting," 
And   the    (clearly   preposterous)    practi6e   of 

"  waiting," 


A    CASE   OF   CONSCIENCE.  143 

And  "  laying  long  odds,"  and  the  other  queer 
capers 

Which  cram  the  reports  that  appear  in  the 
papers ; 

And  whether  a  "  stake  "  is  the  same  as  a  post? 

And  how  far  a  "  heat "  may  resemble  a  roast  ? 

And  whether  a  "  hedge  "  in  the  language  of 
sport 

Is  much  like  the  plain  agricultural  sort  ? 

And  if  "  making  a  book  "  is  a  thing  which  re 
quires 

A  practical  printer  ?  —  and  who  are  the  buy 
ers?— 

Such  matters  as  these  —  very  proper  to 
know  — 

And  no  thought  of  betting  —  induced  them  to 

g° 

To  the  Annual  Races,  which  then  were  in  force, 
(Horse-racing,  in  fact,  is  a  matter  of  course, 
Apart  from  the  pun  ; )  in  a  neighboring  town  ; 
And  so,  as  I  said,  the  Professors  went  down. 


144  A   CASE   OF  CONSCIENCE. 

The  day  was  the  finest  that  ever  was  known ; 
The  atmosphere  just  of  that  temperate  tone 
Which  pleases  the  Spirit  of  (man  and)  the 

Times, 

But  impossible,  quite,  to  describe  in  my  rhymes. 
The  track  has  been  put  in  a  capital  plight 
By  a  smart  dash  of  rain  on  the  previous  night, 
And  all  things  "  went  off"  —  save  some  of  the 

horses  — 
As  lively  as  crickets  or  Kansas  divorces ! 

Arrived  at  the  ground,  it  is  easy  to  guess 
Our  worthy  Professors'  dismay  and  distress 
At  all  the  queer  things  which  expanded  their 

eyes 
(Not  to  mention  their  ears)  to  a  wonderful 

size ! 
How  they  stared  at  the  men  who  were  playing 

at  poker, 
And   scolded  the  chap  with    the   "  sly  little 

joker  "  ; 


A    CASE   OF   CONSCIENCE.  145 

And  the  boy  who  had  "  something  uncommonly 

nice," 

Which  he  offered  to  sell  at  a  very  high  price,  — 
A  volume  that  did  n't  seem  over-refined, 
And  clearly  was  not  of  the  Sunday-school  kind. 
All  this,  and  much  more,  —  but  your  patience 

will  fail, 
Unless  I  desist,  and  go  on  with  my  tale. 

Our  worthy  Professors  no  sooner  had  found 
Their  (ten-shilling)  seats  in  the  circular  ground, 
And  looked  at  the  horses,  —  when,  presently, 

came 

A  wish  to  know  what  was  the  Favorite's  name ; 
And  how  stood  the  betting,  —  quite  plainly  re 
vealing 

The  old  irrepressible  horse-race-y  feeling 
Which  is  born  in  the  bone,  and  is  apt  to  come 

out 

When  thorough-bred    coursers    are    snorting 
about ! 


146  A   CASE   OF  CONSCIENCE: 

The  Professors,  in  fact,  —  I  am  grieved  to  re 
port,— 

At  the  very  first  match  entered  into  the  sport, 
And  bet  (with  each  other)  their  money  away  — 
Just  Fifty  a-piece  —  on   the  Brown  and  the 

Bay; 

And  shouted  as  loud  as  they  ever  could  bellow, 
"  Hurrah  for  the  filly !  "  and  "  Go  it,  old  fel 
low  ! " 
And,  "  Stick  to  your  business  !  "  and  "  Rattle 


your  pegs ! "  — 


t " 


Like  a  jolly  old  brace  of  professional  "  Legs  ! 

The  race  being  over,  quoth  Jacob,  "  I  see 
My  wager  is  forfeit ;  to  that  I  agree. 
The  Fifty  is  yours,  by  the  technical  rules 
Observed,  I  am  told,  by  these  horse-racing  fools ; 
But  then,  as  a  Christian,  —  I  'm  sorry  to  say 

it,- 
My  Conscience,  you  know,  won't  allow  me  to 

pay  it !  " 


A    CASE   OF  CONSCIENCE.  147 

"No  matter,"  — quoth  James,  —  "  I  can  hardly 

refuse 

To  accord  with  your  sound  theological  views : 
A  tardy  repentance  is  better  than  none ; 
I  must  tell  you,  however,  'twas  your  horse  that 

won ! 
But  of  course  you  won't  think  of  demanding 

the  pelf, 
For  /have  a  conscience  as  well  as  yourself!  " 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 


AN    ORIENTAL    LEGEND. 


IT  was  a  merry  monarch 
Who  ruled  a  distant  land, 
And  ever,  for  his  pastime, 

Some  new  device  he  planned, 
And  once,  to  all  his  servants, 
He  gave  this  queer  command :  — 

n. 
Quoth  he,  "  To  every  stranger 

Who  comes  unto  my  court, 
Let  a  fried  fish  be  given, 

And  of  the  finest  sort, 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS.   149 

Then  mark  the  man's  behavior, 
And  bring  me  due  report. 

in. 
If,  when  the  man  has  eaten 

The  fish  unto  the  bone, 
The  glutton  turns  it  over  — 

Then,  by  my  royal  throne, 
For  this,  his  misdemeanor, 

The  gallows  shall  atone  !  " 

IV. 

Now  when  this  regal  mandate, 

According  to  report, 
Had  slain  a  score  of  strangers, 

To  serve  the  monarch's  sport, 
It  chanced  a  gay  young  Marquis 

Came  to  the  royal  court. 

v. 

His  majesty  received  him 
As  suited  with  his  state, 
7  j 


150    THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 

But  when  he  sat  at  dinner, 
The  fish  was  on  the  plate ; 

Alas  !  he  turns  it  over, 
Unconscious  of  his  fate. 

VI. 

Then,  to  his  dire  amazement, 

Three  guardsmen,  standing  nigh, 

Conveyed  him  straight  to  prison, 
And  plainly  told  him  why,  — 

And  how,  in  retribution, 
That  he  was  doomed  to  die ! 

VII. 

The  Marquis,  filled  with  sorrow, 
Implored  the  monarch's  ruth, 

Whereat  the  King  relented, 
(A  gracious  deed,  in  sooth  !) 

And  granted  these  conditions, 
In  pity  of  his  youth  :  — 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS.  151 

VIII. 
That  for  three  days  the  culprit 

Should  have  the  King's  reprieve ; 
Also,  to  name  three  wishes 

The  prisoner  had  leave  — 
One  each  succeeding  morning  — 
The  which  he  should  receive. 

IX. 

"  Thanks  ! "  said  the  grateful  Marquis, 

"  His  Majesty  is  kind  ; 
And,  first,  to  wed  his  daughter 

Is  what  I  have  in  mind ; 
Go,  bid  him  fetch  a  parson 

The  holy  tie  to  bind." 

x. 

Now  when  the  merry  monarch 
This  bold  demand  had  heard, 


152    THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 

With  grief  and  indignation 
His  royal  breast  was  stirred ; 

But  he  had  pledged  his  honor, 
And  so  he  kept  his  word. 

XI. 

Now  if  the  first  petition 
He  reckoned  rather  bold, 

What  was  the  King's  amazement 
To  hear  the  second  told, — 

To  wit,  the  monarch's  treasure 
Of  silver  and  of  gold  ! 

XII. 

To  beg  the  culprit's  mercy 
This  mighty  King  was  fain ; 

But  pleading  and  remonstrance 
Were  uttered  all  in  vain  ; 

And  so  he  gave  the  treasure 
It  cost  him  years  to  gain. 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS.  153 

XIII. 
Sure  ne'er  was  mortal  monarch 

In  such  dismay  as  he ! 
He  woke  next  morning  early 

And  went,  himself,  to  see 
What,  in  the  name  of  wonder, 

The  third  demand  would  be ! 


XIV. 

"  I  ask,"  replied  the  Marquis, 
("  My  third  and  final  wish,) 

That  you  should  call  the  servants 
Who  served  the  fatal  dish, 

And  have  the  eyes  extinguished 
That  saw  me  turn  the  fish." 


xv. 

"  Good ! "  said  the  monarch  gayly, 
With  obvious  delight, 


154    THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 

"  What  you  demand.  Sir  Marquis, 

Is  reasonable  —  quite  ; 
That  they  should  pay  this  forfeit 

Is  nothing  more  than  right. 

XVI. 

"  How  was  it  —  Mr.  Chamberlain  ?  " 

But  he  at  once  denied 
That  he  had  seen  the  culprit 

Turn  up  the  other  side ; 
"  It  must  have  been  the  Steward," 

The  Chamberlain  replied. 

XVII. 

"  Indeed ! "  exclaimed  the  Steward, 
"  It  surely  was  n't  I !  — 

It  must  have  been  the  Butler  "  — 
Who  quickly  made  reply, 

"  It  must  have  been  the  guardsmen, 
Unless  the  feUows  lie !  " 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS.   155 
XVIII. 

But  they,  in  turn,  protested, 

With  plausible  surprise, 
(And  dreadful  imprecations, 

If  they  were  telling  lies  !) 
That  nothing  of  the  matter 

Had  come  before  their  eyes ! 


XIX. 

"  Good  Father,"  —  said  the  Princess, 
"  I  pray  you  ponder  this :  — 

(And  here  she  gave  the  monarch 
A  reverential  kiss) 

My  husband  must  be  guiltless, 
If  none  saw  aught  amiss ! " 

xx. 

The  monarch  frowned  a  little, 
And  gravely  shook  his  head ; 


156    THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 

"  Your  Marquis  should  be  punished  ; 

Well,  let  him  live,"  he  said, 
"  For  though  he  cheats  the  gallows, 
The  man,  at  least,  is  wed  !  " 


THE    FOUR    MISFORTUNES. 


A    HEBREW    TALE. 


A  PIOUS  Rabbi,  forced  by  heathen  hate 
To  quit  the  boundaries  of  his  native 

land, 

Wandered  abroad,  submissive  to  his  fate, 
Through  pathless  woods  and  wastes  of  burn 
ing  sand. 

n. 
A  patient  ass,  to  bear  him  in  his  flight, 

A  dog,  to  guard  him  from  the  robber's  stealth, 
A  lamp,  by  which  to  read  the  law  at  night,  — 

Was  all  the  pilgrim's  store  of  worldly  wealth. 

7* 


158  THE  FOUR   MISFORTUNES. 

III. 
At  set  of  sun  he  reached  a  little  town, 

And  asked  for  shelter  and  a  crumb  of  food ; 
But  every  face  repelled  him  with  a  frown, 

And  so  he  sought  a  lodging  in  the  wood. 

IV. 

"  'T  is  very  hard,"  the  weary  traveller  said, 
"  And  most  inhospitable,  I  protest, 

To  send  me  fasting  to  this  forest  bed ; 

But  God  is  good,  and  means  it  for  the  best! " 

v. 
He  lit  his  lamp  to  read  the  sacred  law, 

Before  he  spread  his  mantle  for  the  night ; 
But  the  wind  rising  with  a  sudden  flaw, 

He  read  no  more, — the  gust  put  out  the  light. 

VI. 

"  'T  is  strange,"  he  said, "  't  is  very  strange,  in 
deed, 
That  ere  I  lay  me  down  to  take  my  rest, 


THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES.          159 

A  chapter  of  the  law  I  may  not  read,  — 
But  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best." 

VII. 

With  these  consoling  words  the  Rabbi  tries 
To  sleep,  —  his  head  reposing  on  a  log,  — 

But,  ere  he  fairly  shut  his  drowsy  eyes, 
A  wolf  came  up  and  killed  his  faithful  dog. 

VIII. 

"  What  new  calamity  is  this  ?  "  he  cried ; 

"  My  honest  dog — a  friend  who  stood  the  test 
When  others  failed — lies  murdered  at  my  side ! 

Well,  —  God  is  good  and  means  it  for  the 
best." 

IX. 

Scarce  had  the  Rabbi  spoken,  when,  alas !  — 
As  if,  at  once,  to  crown  his  wretched  lot, 

A  hungry  lion  pounced  upon  the  ass, 

And  killed  the  faithful  donkey  on  the  spot. 


160  THE  FOUR   MISFORTUNES. 

X. 

"  Alas  !  —  alas  !  " —  the  weeping  Rabbi  said, 
"  Misfortune  haunts  me  like  a  hateful  guest ; 

My  dog  is  gone,  and  now  my  ass  is  dead,  — 
Well,  —  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best ! " 


XI. 

At  dawn  of  day,  imploring  heavenly  grace, 
Once  more  he  sought  the  town ;   but  all  in 
vain ; 

A  band  of  robbers  had  despoiled  the  place, 
And  all  the  churlish  citizens  were  slain ! 

XII. 

"  Now  God  be  praised ! "   the  grateful  Rabbi 
cried, 

"  If  I  had  tarried  in  the  town  to  rest, 
I  too,  with  these  poor  villagers,  had  died,  — 

Sure,  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best ! 


THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES.  161 

XIII. 
"  Had  not  the  saucy  wind  put  out  my  lamp, 

By  which  the  sacred  law  I  would  have  read, 
The  light  had  shown  the  robbers  to  my  camp, 
And  here  the  villains  Would  have  left  me 
dead ! 

XIV. 

"  Had  not  my  faithful  animals  been  slain, 
Their  noise,  no  doubt,  had  drawn  the  robbers 
near, 

And  so  their  master,  it  is  very  plain, 

Instead  of  them,  had  fallen  murdered  here ! 

xv. 
"  Full  well  I  see  that  this  hath  happened  so 

To  put  my  faith  and  patience  to  the  test ; 
Thanks  to  His  name  !  for  now  I  surely  know 

That  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best ! " 


OTHELLO,    THE    MOOR. 

A   TRAVESTY. 

ROMANCES  of  late  are  so  wretchedly  poor, 
Here  goes  for  the  old  one :  —  Othello 

the  Moor  ; 

A  warrior  of  note,  and  by  no  means  a  boor, 
Though  the  skin  on  his  face 
Was  black  as  the  ace 
Of  spades  ;  or  (a  simile  nearer  the  case) 
Say,  black  as  the  Deuce ;  or  black  as  a  brace 
Of  very  black  cats  in  a  very  dark  place ! 
That 's  the  German  idea ; 
But  how  he  could  be  a 
Regular  negro  don't  seem  very  clear ; 


OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR.  163 

For  Horace,  you  know, 

A  great  while  ago, 
Put  a  sentiment  forth  which  we  all  must  agree 

to: 

"  Hie  niger  est;  hunc  tu,  Romane,  caveto  !" 
(A.  nigger  's  a  rascal  that  one  ought  to  see  to.) 

I  rather,  in  sooth, 

Think  it  nearer  the  truth 
To  take  the  opinion  of  young  Mr.  Booth, 

Who  makes  his  Othello 

A  grim-looking  fellow 

Of  a  color  compounded  of  lamp-black  and  yel 
low. 

•I 

Now  Captain  Othello,  a  true  son  of  Mars, 
The  foe  being  vanquished,  returned  from  the 

wars, 
All   covered  with  ribbons,   and   garters,   and 

stars, 
Not  to  mention  a  score  of  magnificent  scars  ; 


164  OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR. 

And  calling,  one  day, 

In  a  neighborly  way, 
On  Signer  Brabantio  —  one  of  the  men 
Who  figured  in  Venice  as  Senator  then  — 

Was  invited  to  tell 

Of  all  that  befell 
Himself  and  his  friends  while  campaigning  so 

'  well, 
From  the  time  of  his  boyhood  till  now  he  was 

grown 
The  greatest  of  Captains  that  Venice  had  known. 

As  a  neighbor  should  do, 

He  ran  it  quite  through, 
(I  would  n't  be  bail  it  was  all  of  it  true) 
Recounting,  with  ardor,  such  trophies  and  glo 
ries, 

Among  Ottoman  rebels  and  Cyprian  tories, 
Not  omitting  a  parcel  of  cock-and-bull  stories, — 
That  he  quite  won  the  heart  of  the  Senator's 
daughter, 


OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR.  165 

Who,  like  most  of  the  sex,  had  a  passion  for 

slaughter ; 

And  was  wondrously  bold 
In  battles  —  as  told 

By  brilliant  romancers,  who  picture  in  gold 
What,  in  its  own  hue,  you  'd  be  shocked  to  be 
hold. 

Now  Captain  Othello,  who  never  had  known  a 
Young  lady  so  lovely  as  "  Fair  Desdemona," 
Not  even  his  patroness,  Madam  Bellona,  — 

Was  delighted,  one  day, 

At  hearing  her  say, 
Of  all  men  in  the  world  he  'd  the  charmingest 

way 

Of  talking  to  women  ;  and  if  any  one  should, 
(Tho'  she  did  n't  imagine  that  any  one  would, — 
For  where,  to  be  sure,  was  another  who  could?') 
But,  if —  and  suppose  —  a  lover  came  to  her, 
And  told  her  his  story,  'twould  certainly  woo 
her. 


166  OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR. 

With  so  lucid  a  hint, 

The  dickens  were  in 't, 

If  he  could  n't  have  read  her  as  easy  as  print ; 
And  thus  came  of  course,  —  but  as  to  the  rest, — 
The  billing  and  cooing  I  leave  to  be  guessed,  — • 
And  how  when  their  passion  was  fairly  con 
fessed, 

They  sent  for  a  parson  to  render  them  "  blest,"  — 
Although  it  was  done,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
In  what  Mrs.  P.  —  had  it  happened  to-day  — 
Would  be  likely  to  call  a  clam-destiny  way  ! 

I  cannot  recount 

One  half  the  amount 

Of  curses  that  burst  from  his  cardiac  fount 
When  Signor  Brabantio  learned  that  the  Moor 
Had  married  his  daughter ;   "  How  dared  he  to 

woo  her  ? 
'The  sooty-skinned  knave,  —  thus  to  blight  and 

undo  her  ! 

With   what  villanous  potions  the  scoundrelly 
sinner 


OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR.  167 

Must  have  poisoned  her  senses  in  order  to  win 
her !  " 

And  more  of  the  same,  — 

But  niy  language  is  lame, 
E'en  a  fishwoman's  tongue  were  decidedly  tame 
A  tithe  of  the  epithets  even  to  name, 
Compounded  of  scorn  and  derision  and  hate, 
Which  Signor  Brabantio  poured  on  the  pate 
Of  the  beautiful  girl's  nigritudinous  mate  ! 

I  cannot  delay 

To  speak  of  the  way 

The  matter  was  settled  ;  suffice  it  to  say 
'T  was  exactly  the  same  as  you  see  in  a  play, 
Where  the  lady  persuades  her  affectionate  sire, 
That  the  fault  was  her  own,  —  which  softens  his 

ire, 

And,  though  for  a  season  extremely  annoyed, 
At  last  he  approves  —  what  he  cannot  avoid ! 

Philosophers  tell  us 

A  mind  like  Othello's,  — 


170  OTHELLO,    THE   MOOR. 

Spurned  all  explanation  the  dame  could  afford, 

And  still  kept  repeating  the  odious  word, 

So  false,  and  so  foul  to  a  virtuous  ear, 

That  I   couldn't  be   tempted   to   mention  it 

£ 

here. 

'T  is  sadder  to  tell 

Of  the  crime  that  befel, 

When,  moved,  it  would  seem,  by  the  demons 
of  hell, 

He  seized  a  knife, 

And,  kissing  his  wife,- 

Extinguished  the  light  of  her  innocent  life  ; 
And  how,  also,  before  the  poor  body  was  cool, 
He  found  he  had  acted  as  villany's  tool, 
And  died  exclaiming,  "  0  fool !  fool  I  FOOL  ! " 

MORAL. 

Young  ladies !  —  beware  of  hasty  connections  , 
And  don't  marry  suitors  with  swarthy  complex 
ions  ; 


OTHELLO,    THE   MOOR.  171 

For  though  they  may  chance  to  be  capital  fel 
lows, 
Depend  upon  it,  they  're  apt  to  be  jealous  ! 

Young  gentlemen !  pray  recollect,  if  you  can, 
To  give  a  wide  berth  to  a  meddlesome  man  ; 
And  horsewhip  the  knave  who  would  poison 

your  life 
By  breeding  distrust  between  you  and  your  wife  ! 


VENUS    AND    VULCAN: 

OR,    THE    MYSTERY    EXPLAINED. 

WHEN  the  peerless  Aphrodite 
First  appeared  among  her  kin, 
What  a  flutter  of  excitement 
All  the  goddesses  were  in ! 

How  the  gods,  in  deep  amazement, 

Bowed  before  the  Queen  of  Beauty, 
And  in  loyal  adoration 
*      Proffered  each  his  humble  duty ! 

Phoebus,  first,  to  greet  her  coming, 
Met  her  with  a  grand  oration  ; 

Mars,  who  ne'er  before  had  trembled, 
Showed  the  plainest  trepidation  ! 


VENUS  AND    VULCAN.  173 

Hermes  fairly  lost  his  cunning, 

Gazing  at  the  new  Elysian  ; 
Plutus  quite  forgot  his  money 

In  the  rapture  of  his  vision  ! 

Even  Jove  was  deeply  smitten, 

(So  the  Grecian  poets  tell  us,) 
And,  as  might  have  been  expected, 

Juno  was  extremely  jealous  ! 

Staid  Minerva  thought  her  silly  ; 

Chaste  Diana  called  her  vain  ; 
But  not  one  of  all  the  ladies 

Dared  to  say  that  she  was  "  plain  "  ! 

Surely  such  a  throng  of  lovers 

Never  mortal  yet  could  boast ; 
Everywhere  throughout  Olympus 

"  Charming  Venus  !  "   was  the  toast ! 


174  VENUS   AND    VULCAN. 

Even  Vulcan,  lame  and  ugly, 

Paid  the  dame  his  awkward  court ; 

But  the  goddess,  in  derision, 
Turned  his  passion  into  sport ; 

Laughed  aloud  at  all  his  pleading  ; 
Bade  him  wash  his  visage  sooty. 
And  go  wooing  with  the  Harpies, 
.   What  had  he  to  do  with  Beauty  ? 

Well  —  how  fared  it  with  the  goddess  ? 

Sure,  the  haughty  queen  of  love, 
Choosing  one  to  suit  her  fancy, 
,  Married  Phoebus,  Mars  or  Jove  ? 

No  !  —  at  last  —  as  often  happens 
To  coquettes  of  lower  station  — 

Venus  found  herself  neglected, 
With  a  damaged  reputation  ; 


VENUS  AND    VULCAN.  175 

And  esteeming  any  husband 

More  desirable  than  none, 
She  was  glad  to  marry  Vulcan 

As  the  best  that  could  be  done  ! 


Hence  you  learn  the  real  reason, 
Which  your  wonder  oft  arouses, 

Why  so  many  handsome  women 
Have  such  very  ugly  spouses  ! 


JUPITER    AND    DANAE: 

OR,    HOW   TO    WIN   A    WOMAN. 

IMPERIAL  Jove,  who,  with  wonderful  art, 
Was  one  of  those  suitors  that  always  pre 
vail, 

Once  made  an  assault  on  so  flinty  a  heart, 
That  he  feared  for  a  while  he  was  destined 
to  fail. 

A  beautiful  maiden,  Miss  Danae  by  name, 
The  Olympian  lover  endeavored  to  win ; 
But  she  peeped  from  the  casement  whenever 
he  came, 

Exclaiming,  "  You ''re  handsome,  but  cannot 
come  in  !  " 


JUPITER  AND  DANAE.  177 

With  sweet  adulation  he  tickled  her  ear ; 
But  still  at  her  window  she  quietly  sat, 
And  said,  though  his  speeches  were  pleasant  to 

hear, 

She  'd  always  been  used  to  such  homage  as 
that ! 

Then  he  spoke,  in  a  fervid  and  rapturous  strain, 
Of  a  bosom  consuming  with  burning  desirea; 

But  his  eloquent  pleading  was  wholly  in  vain,  — 
She  thought  it  imprudent  to  meddle  with  fire ! 

Then  he  begged  her  in  mercy  to  pity  his  case, 
And  spoke  of  his  dreadfully  painful  condition  ; 

But  the  lady  replied,  with  a  sorrowful  face, 
She  was  only  a  maiden,  and  not  a  physi 
cian  ! 

In  vain  with  these  cunning  conventional  snares, 
To  win  her  the  gallant  Lothario  strove  ; 

8*  L 


178  JUPITER   AND  DANAE. 

In  spite  of  his  smiles,  and  his  tears,  and  liis 

.  prayers, 

She  could  n't,  she  would  n't,  be  courted  by 
Jove  ! 

At  last  he  contrived,  —  so  the  story  is  told,  — 
By  some  means  or  other,  one  evening,  to  pour 

Plump  into  her  apron  a  shower  of  gold, 

Which  opened  her  heart  —  and  unbolted  her 
door  ! 


Hence  suitors  may  learn  that  in  matters  of  love 
'T  is  idle  in  manners  or  merit  to  trust ; 

The  only  sure  way  is  to  imitate  Jove,  — 

Just  open  your  purse,  and  come  down  with 
the  dust ! 


THE   PARROT   OF   NEVERS. 

I. 

ONCE  on  a  time  there  flourished  in  Nevers, 
Within  a  nunnery  of  godly  note, 
A  famous  parrot,  so  exceeding  fair 

In  the  deep  lustre  of  his  emerald  coat, 
They  called  him  Ver-Vert  —  syllables  that  mean 
In  English  nmch  the  same  as  Double  Green. 


ii. 

In  youth  transplanted  from  an  Indian  strand, 
For  his  soul's  health  with  Christian  folks  to 

dwell, 

His  morals  yet  were  pure,  his  manners  bland ; 
Gay,  handsome,  brilliant,  and,  the  truth  to 
tell, 


178  JUPITER   AND  DANAE. 

In  spite  of  his  smiles,  and  his  tears,  and  his 

.  prayers, 

She  could  n't,  she  would  n't,  be  courted  by 
Jove  ! 

At  last  he  contrived,  —  so  the  story  is  told,  — 
By  some  means  or  other,  one  evening,  to  pour 

Plump  into  her  apron  a  shower  of  gold, 

Which  opened  her  heart  —  and  unbolted  her 
door  ! 

L'ENVOI. 

Hence  suitors  may  learn  that  in  matters  of  love 
5T  is  idle  in  manners  or  merit  to  trust ; 

The  only  sure  way  is  to  imitate  Jove,  — 

Just  open  your  purse,  and  come  down  with 
the  dust ! 


THE   PARROT   OF   NEVERS. 

I. 

ONCE  on  a  time  there  flourished  in  Nevers, 
Within  a  nunnery  of  godly  note, 
A  famous  parrot,  so  exceeding  fair 

In  the  deep  lustre  of  his  emerald  coat, 
They  called  him  Ver-Vert  —  syllables  that  mean 
In  English  much  the  same  as  Double  Green. 


n. 

In  youth  transplanted  from  an  Indian  strand, 
For  his  soul's  health  with  Christian  folks  to 

dwell, 

His  morals  yet  were  pure,  his  manners  bland ; 
Gay,  handsome,  brilliant,  and,  the  truth  to 
tell, 


180  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

I 

Pert  and  loquacious,  as  became  his  age  ; 
In  short,  well  worthy  of  his  holy  cage. 

in. 
Dear  to  the  sisters  for  his  winning  ways 

Was  gay  Ver-Vert ;  they  kept  him  ever  near, 
And  kindly  taught  him  many  a  holy  phrase, 

Enforced  with  titbits  from  their  daily  cheer, 
And  loved   him  better  —  they  would   oft  de 
clare  — 
Than  any  one,  except  their  darling  Mere  ! 

IV. 

Ah !  ne'er  was  parrot  happier  than  he  ; 

And  happy  was  the  lucky  girl  of  whom 
He  asked  —  according  as  his  whim  might  be  — 

The  privilege  at  eve  to  share  her  room, 
Where,  perched  upon  the  relics,  he  would  sleep 
Through  the  long  night  in  slumber  calm  and 
deep. 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS.  181 

V. 

At  length,  what  joy  to  see !  — the  bird  had  grown, 
With  good  example^  thoughtful  and  devout, 
He  said  his  prayers  in  such  a  nasal  tone, 

His  piety  was  quite  beyond  a  doubt ; 
And   some    declared   that   soon,   with   proper 

teaching, 
He  'd  rival  the  Superior  at  preaching  ! 

VI. 

If  any  laughed  to  see  his  solemn  ways, 
In  curt  rebuke,  "  Orate  /  "  *  he  replied  ; 

And  when  his  zeal  provoked  a  shower  of  praise, 
"  Deo  sit  laus  !  "  f  the  humble  novice  cried  ; 

And  many  said  they  did  n't  mind  confessing 

His  "  Pax  sit  teeum!"  J  brought  a  special  bless 
ing. 

*  Pray !  t  Praise  be  to  God. 

""         J  Peace  be  with  you. 


182     THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

VII. 
Such  wondrous  talents,  though  awhile  concealed, 

Could  not  be  kept  in  secrecy  forever ; 
Some  babbling  nun  the  precious  truth  revealed, 

And  all  the  town  must  see  a  bird  so  clever ; 
Until  at  last  so  wide  the  wonder  grew, 
'T  was  fairly  bruited  all  the  country  through. 

VIII. 

And  so  it  fell,  by  most  unlucky  chance, 
A  distant  city  of  the  parrot  heard  ; 

The  story  reached  some  sister-nuns  at  Nantz, 
Who  fain  themselves  would  see  this  precious 
bird 

Whose  zeal  and  learning  had  sufficed  to  draw 

On  blest  Nevers  such  honor  and  £clat. 

IX. 

What  could  they  do  ?  —  well,  here  is  what  they 

did, 
To  the  good  Abbess  presently  there  went 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS.     183 

A  friendly  note,  in  which  the  writers  bid 

A  thousand  blessings  hasten  their  descent 
Upon  her  honored  house,  —  and  would  she  please 
To  grant  a  favor  asked  upon  their  knees  ? 

x. 
'T  was  only  this,  that  she  would  deign  to  lend 

For  a  brief  space  that  charming  parroquet ; 
They  hoped  the  bold  request  might  not  offend 

Her  ladyship,  but  then  they  fain  would  get 
Such  proof  as  only  he  could  well  advance 
To  silence  certain  sceptic  nuns  of  Nantz. 

XI. 

The  letter  came  to  hand,  and  such  a  storm 
Of  pious  wrath  was  never  heard  before  ; 

The  mildest  sister  waxed  exceeding  warm,  — 
"  Perdre  Ver-  Vert !   0  del !  plutdt  la  mort  I " 

They  all  broke  forth  in  one  terrific  cry, 

What  ?  —  lose    their    darling  ?  —  they  would 
rather  die  ! 


184  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

XII. 
But,  on  reflection,  it  was  reckoned  best 

To  take  the  matter  into  grave  debate, 
And  put  the  question  fairly  to  the  test 

(Which  seemed,  indeed,  a  nice  affair  of  state) 
If  they  should  lend  their  precious  pet  or  not ; 
And  so  they  held  a  session,  long  and  hot. 

XIII. 

The  sisters  all  with  one  accord  express 
Their  disapproval  in  a  noisy  "  No  !  " 

The  graver  dame  —  who  loved  the  parrot  less  — 
Declared,  Perhaps  't  were  best  to  let  him  go ; 

Refusal  was  ungracious,  and,  indeed, 

An  ugly  quarrel  might  suffice  to  breed ! 

XIV. 

Yain  was  the  clamor  of  the  younger  set ; 

"  Just  fifteen  days  and  not  a  moment  more 
(Mamma  decided)  we  will  lend  our  pet ; 

Of  course  his  absence  we  shall  all  deplore, 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS.     185 

But  then,  remember,  he  is  only  lent 
For  two  short  weeks,"  —  and   off  the   parrot 
went ! 

xv. 

In  the  same  bark  that  bore  the  bird  away 
Were  s&veral  Gascons  and  a  vulgar  nurse, 

Besides  two  Cyprian  ladies ;  sooth  to  say, 
Yer-Vert's  companions  could  n't  have  been 
worse. 

Small  profit  such  a  youth  might  hope  to  gain 

From  wretches  so  licentious  and  profane. 

XVI. 

Their  manners  struck  him  as  extremely  queer ; 

Such  oaths  and  curses  he  had  never  heard 
As  now  in  volleys  stunned  his  saintly  ear ; 

Although  he  did  n't  understand  a  word, 
Their  conversation  seemed  improper,  very, 
To  one  brought  up  within  a  monastery. 


186  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVER S. 

XVII. 

For  his,  remember,  was  a  Christian  tongue 
Unskilled  in  aught  save  pious  prose  or  verse 

By  his  good  sisters  daily  said  or  sung ; 

And  now  to  hear  the  Gascons  and  the  nurse 

Go  on  in  such  a  roaring,  ribald  way, 

He  knew  not  what  to  think,  nor  whafrto  say. 

XVIII. 

And  so  he  mused  in  silence  ;  till  at  last 

The  nurse  reproached  him  for  a  sullen  fool, 

And  poured  upon  him  a  terrific  blast 

Of  questions,  such  as,  where  he  'd  been  to 
school-? 

And  was  he  used  to  travelling  about  ? 

And  did  his  mother  know  that  he  was  out  ? 

XIX. 

"  Ave  Maria  !  "  *  said  the  parrot,  —  vexed 
By  so  much  banter  into  sudden  speech,  — 

*  Hail  Mary. 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS.     187 

Whereat  all  laughed  to  hear  the  holy  text, 
And  cried,  "  By  Jove !  the  chap  is  going  to 

preach! " 
"  Come,"  they  exclaimed,  "  let 's  have  a  song 

instead." 
"  Oantate  Domino  /"*  the  parrot  said. 

xx. 

At  this  reply  they  laughed  so  loud  and  long 
That    poor    Ver-Vert    was    fairly   stricken 
dumb. 

In  vain  they  teased  him  for  a  merry  song ; 
Abashed  by  ridicule  and  quite  overcome 

"With  virulent  abuse,  the  wretched  bird 

For  two  whole  days  refused  to  speak  a  word ! 

XXI. 

Meanwhile  he  listened  to  their  vile  discourse 
In   deep   disgust  ;    but    still    the    stranger 
thought 

*  Let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord. 


188  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

Their  slang  surpassed  in  freedom,  pith  and  force 
The  purer  language  which  the  missal  taught, 
And  seemed,  besides,  an  easier  tongue  to  speak 
Than  prayer-book  Latin  or  monastic  Greek. 

xxn. 
In  short,  to  tell  the  melancholy  truth, 

Before    the   boat  had  reached  its  destined 

shore 

He  who  embarked  a  pure,  ingenuous  youth 
Had   grown   a   profligate,  and   cursed   and 

swore 

Such  dreadful  oaths  as  e'en  the  Gascons  heard 
With  shame,  and   said,  "  The  Devil *s  in  the 
bird !  " 

xxm. 
At  length,  the  vessel  has  arrived  in  port, 

And  half  the  sisterhood  are  waiting  there 
To  greet  their  guest,  and  safely  to  escort 
To    their    own  house   the  wonderful   Yer- 
Vert,  — 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS.     189 

The  precious  parrot  whom  their  fancies  paint 

Crowned  with  a  halo  like  a  very  Saint ! 

* 

XXIV. 

Great  was  the  clamor  when  their  eyes  beheld 

The  charming  stranger  in  the  emerald  coat ; 

"  Yer-Yert  indeed  !  "  —  his  very  hue  compelled 

A  shout  of  praise  that  reached  the  highest  note. 

"And  then  such  eyes  ! — and  such  a  graceful 

walk! 

And   soon,  —  what   rapture !  —  we  shall  hear 
him  talk ! " 

xxv. 
At  length  —  the  Abbess  in  a  nasal  chant, 

(Intended,  doubtless,  for  a  pretty  speech,) 
Showered  him  with  thanks  that  he  had  deigned 

to  grant 

His  worthy  presence  there,  and  to  beseech 
His  benediction  in  such  gracious  terms 
As  might  befit  the  sinfullest  of  worms. 


190  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

XXVI. 
Alas !  for  youthful  piety  ;  the  bird, 

Still  thinking  o'er  the  lessons  latest  learned, 
For  a  full  minute  answered  not  a  word, 

And  then,  as  if  to  show  much  he  spurned 
The  early  teachings  of  his  holy  school, 
He  merely  muttered,  "  Curse  the  silly  fool !" 

XXVII. 

The  lady,  startled  at  the  queer  remark, 

Could  not  but  think  that   she   had  heard 
amiss ; 

And  so  began  to  speak  again,  —  but  hark ! 
What  diabolic  dialect  is  this  ?  — 

Such  language  for  a  saint  was  most  improper, 

Each  word  an  oath,  and  every  oath  a  whopper ! 

xxvin. 

Parblieu  !  Morblieu  !  and  every  azure  curse 
To  pious  people  strictly  disallowed, 


OF   TBI 


PARROT  OF 

Including  others  that  were  vastly  worse, 

Came  rattling  forth  on  the  astonished  crowd 
In  such  a  storm,  that  one  might  well  compare 
The  dreadful  volley  to  a  "feu  tfenfer!" 

xxix. 
All  stood  aghast  in  horror  and  dismay  ; 

Some  cried,  "  For  shame  !  is  that  the  way 

they  teach 
Their  pupils  at  Nevers?  "     Some  ran  away, 

Rending  the  welkin  with  a  piercing  screech  ; 
Some  stopt  their  ears  for  modesty  ;  and  some 
(Though   shocked)    stood   waiting    something 
worse  to  come  ! 

xxx. 

In  brief,  the  dame,  replete  with  holy  rage 
At  being  thus  insulted  and  disgraced, 

Shut  up  the  hateful  parrot  in  his  cage, 

And  sent  him  back  with  all  convenient  haste 


192  THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

And  this  indignant  note  :  —  "  In  time  to  come 
Be   pleased   to   keep  your   precious   prize    at 
home  !  " 

XXXI. 

When  to  Nevers  the  wicked  wanderer  came, 
All  were  delighted  at  his  quick  return  ; 

But  who  can  paint  their  sorrow  and  their  shame 
When  the  sad  truth  the  gentle  sisters  learn, 

That  he  who  left  them,  chanting  pious  verses, 

Now  greets  his  friends  with  horrid  oaths  and 
curses ! 

XXXII. 

'T  is  said  that  after  many  bitter  days 

In  wholesome  solitude  and  penance  passed, 
Ver-Vert    grew    meek,  reformed  his  wicked 

ways, 

And  died  a  hopeful  penitent  at  last. 
The  moral  of  my  story  is  n't  deep :  — 
"  Young  folks,   beware    what    company    you 
keep ! " 


THE   PUZZLED    CENSUS -TAKER. 

OT  any  boys  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 
To  a  lady  from  over  the  Rhine ; 
And  the  lady  shook  her  flaxen  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein!"* 

"  Got  any  girls  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine ; 

And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein!  " 

"  But  some  are  dead  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine ; 

And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein!  " 

*  Nein,  pronounced  nine,  is  the  German  for  "No." 
9  M 


194      TILE  PUZZLED  CENSUS-TAKER. 

"  Husband  of  course  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 

And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein!" 

«  The  d 1  you  have  ! "  the  Marshal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine ; 

And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein!  " 

"  Now  what  do  you  mean  by  shaking  your  head, 
And  always  answering,  '  Nine '  ?  " 

"  Ich  Jcann  nicht  Englisch!"  civilly  said 
The  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  !  " 


EGO    ET    ECHO. 

A    PHANTASY. 
I. 

TASKED  of  Echo,  't  other  day, 
(Whose  words  are  few  and  often  funny,) 
What  to  a  novice  she  could  say 
Of  courtship,  love  and  matrimony  ? 
Quoth  Echo,  plainly:  — "  Matter-o* -money  !  " 


II. 
Whom  should  I  marry  ?  —  should  it  be 

A  dashing  damsel,  gay  and  pert,  — 
A  pattern  of  inconstancy ; 

Or  selfish,  mercenary  flirt? 

Quoth  Echo,  sharply :  —  "  Nary  flirt!  " 


196  EGO  ET  ECHO. 

III. 
What  if  —  aweary  of  the  strife 

That  long  has  lured  the  dear  deceiver  — 
She  promise  to  amend  her  life, 

And  sin  no  more,  can  I  believe  her  ? 

Quoth  Echo,  very  promptly  :  —  "Leave  her!  " 

IV. 

But  if  some  maiden  with  a  heart, 
On  me  should  venture  to  bestow  it : 

Pray,  should  I  act  the  wiser  part 
To  take  the  treasure  ;  or  forego  it  ? 

«• 

Quoth  Echo,  with  decision :  —  " Cro  it! " 

v. 

Suppose  a  billet-doux,  (in  rhyme,) 
As  warm  as  if  Catullus  penned  it, 

Declare  her  beauty  so  sublime 

That  Cytherea's  can't  transcend  it,  — 
Quoth  Echo,  very  clearly  :  —  "  Send  it !  " 


EGO  ET  ECHO,  197 

VI. 
But  what  if,  seemingly  afraid 

To  bind  her  fate  in  Hymen's  fetter, 
She  vow  she  means  to  die  a  maid,  — 

In  answer  to  my  loving  letter  ? 

Quoth  Echo,  rather  coolly :  —  "  Let  her  !  " 

VII. 

What  if,  in  spite  of  her  disdain, 

I  find  my  heart  entwined  about 
With  Cupid's  dear  delicious  chain, 

So  closely  that  I  can't  get  out  ? 

Quoth  Echo,  laughingly  :  —  "  Get  out!  " 

vm. 

But  if  some  maid  with  beauty  blest ; 

As  pure  and  fair  as  Heaven  can  make  her, 

Will  share  my  labor  and  my  rest, 

Till  envious  Death  shall  overtake  her  ?  — 
Quoth  Echo  (sotto  voce)  :  —  "  Take  Tier! " 


WOULDN'T   YOU   LIKE   TO   KNOW? 

A    MADRIGAL. 
I. 

I  KNOW  a  girl  with  teeth  of  pearl, 
And  shoulders  white  as  snow ; 
She  lives,  —  ah !  well, 
I  must  not  tell,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


n. 

Her  sunny  hair  is  wondrous  fair, 
And  wavy  in  its  flow ; 

Who  made-  it  less 

One  little  tress,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


WOULDN'T  YOU  LIKE  TO  KNOW?    199 

III. 

Her  eyes  are  blue  (celestial  hue  !) 
And  dazzling  in  their  glow  ; 

On  whom  they  beam 

With  melting  gleam,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

IV. 

Her  lips  are  red  and  finely  wed, 
Like  roses  ere  they  blow ; 

What  lover  sips 

Those  dewy  lips,  — ' 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know? 

v. 

Her  fingers  are  like  lilies  fair 
When  lilies  fairest  grow ; 

Whose  hand  they  press 

With  fond  caress,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


200     WOULDN'T  YOU  LIKE  TO  KNOW? 

VI. 

Her  foot  is  small,  and  has  a  fall 
Like  snowflakes  on  the  snow ; 
And  where  it  goes 
Beneath  the  rose,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

vn. 

She  has  a  name,  the  sweetest  name 
That  language  can  bestow ; 

'T  would  break  the  spell 

If  I  should  tell,— 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


THE     COQUETTE. 

A    PORTRAIT. 

"  ~\  70U  're  clever  at  drawing,  I  own," 
J*     Said  my  beautiful  cousin  Lisette, 
As  we  sat  by  the  window  alone, 

"  But  say,  can  you  paint  a  Coquette  ?  " 

"  She  's  painted  already,"  quoth  I ; 

"  Nay,  nay !  "  said  the  laughing  Lisette, 
"  Now  none  of  your  joking,  —  btit  try 

And  paint  me  a  thorough  Coquette." 

"  Well,  cousin,"  at  once  I  began 
In  the  ear  of  the  eager  Lisette, 

"  I  '11  paint  you  as  well  as  I  can 
That  wonderful  thing,  a  Coquette. 

9* 


202  THE  COQUETTE. 

She  wears  a  most  beautiful  face, 

(Of  course  !  —  said  the  pretty  Lisette,) 

And  is  n't  deficient  in  grace, 
Or  else  she  were  not  a  Coquette. 

And  then  she  is  daintily  made 
(A  smile  from  the  dainty  Lisette) 

By  people  expert  in  the  trade 
Of  forming  a  proper  Coquette. 

She 's  the  winningest  ways  with  the  beaux, 
(Go  on !  —  said  the  winning  Lisette,) 

But  there  is  n't  a  man  of  them  knows 
The  mind  of  the  fickle  Coquette ! 

She  knows  how  to  weep  and  to  sigh, 
(A  sigji  from  the  tender  Lisette,) 

But  her  weeping  is  all  in  my  eye,  — 
Not  that  of  the  cunning  Coquette ! 


THE   COQUETTE.  203 

In  short,  she"'s  a  creature  of  art, 

(0  hush  !  —  said  the  frowning  Lisette,) 

With  merely  the  ghost  of  a  heart,  — 
Enough  for  a  thorough  Coquette. 

And  yet  I  could  easily  prove 

(Now  don't!  —  said  the  angry  Lisette,) 
The  lady  is  always  in  love, — 

In  love  with  herself,  —  the  Coquette ! 

There,  —  do  not  be  angry !  —  you  know, 

My  dear  little  cousin  Lisette, 
You  told  me  a  moment  ago 

To  paint  you —  a  thorough  Coquette !  " 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  AND  THE   LAWYER. 

A    SONG. 
I. 

THEY  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
I  'm  the  cleverest  man  in  all  the  town. 
Heigh-ho  !  —  says  she, 
What 's  that  to  me  ? 

But  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
You  're  the  prettiest  girl  in  all  the  town ! 
Says  she,  If  they  do, 
What 's  that  to  you  ? 

n. 

They  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
I  'm  the  richest  man  in  all  the  town. 

Heigh-ho !  —  says  she, 

What 's  that  to  me  ? 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  AND  THE  LA  WYER.  205 

But  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
You  ought  to  be  dressed  in  a  finer  gown  ! 

Says  she,  If  they  do, 

What 's  that  to  you  ? 

m. 

They  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown, 
That  Johnny  Hodge  is  an  awkward  clown. 

Heigh-ho  !  —  says  she, 

What 's  that  to  me  ? 

But  they  say,  little  maid,  the  lawyer  said, 
That  you  and  Johnny  are  going  to  wed ! 

Says  she,  If  we  do, 

What 's  that  to  you  ? 


TO    MY     LOVE. 

Da  me  basia.     CATULLUS. 
I. 

KISS  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low ; 
Malice  has  ever  a  vigilant  ear ; 
What  if  Malice  were  lurking  near  ? 

Kiss  me,  dear! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 

n. 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low ; 
Envy  too  has  a  watchful  ear ; 
What  if  Envy  should  chance  to  hear  ? 

Kiss  me,  dear ! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 


TO  MY  LOVE.  207 

III. 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low ; 
Trust  me,  darling,  the  time  is  near 
When  lovers  may  love  with  never  a  fear ; 

Kiss  me,  dear ! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 


•ROBIN   MERRYMAN. 

(Imitated  from  Be"ranger's  "  Roger  Bontemps.") 
I. 

T)  Y  way  of  good  example 
U     To  all  the  gloomy  clan, 
There  came  into  existence 
Good  Robin  Merryman. 
To  laugh  at  those  who  grumble, 

And  be  jolly  as  he  can,  — 
0  that 's  the  only  system 
Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

ii. 

A  hat  so  very  ancient 
It  might  have  covered  Moses, 


ROBIN  MERRYMAN.  209 

Adorned,  on  great  occasions, 

With  ivy-leaves  or  roses  ; 
A  coat  the  very  coarsest 

Since  tailoring  began,  — 
0  that 's  the  gay  apparel 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

m. 
Within  his  cottage  Robin 

With  joyful  eye  regards 
A  table  and  a  bedstead, 

A  flute,  a  pack  of  cards, 
A  chest  —  with  nothing  in  it,  — 

An  earthen  water-can,  — 
0  these  are  all  the  riches 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

IV. 

To  teach  the  village  children 
The  funniest  kind  of  plays ; 


210  ROBIN  MERRYMAN. 

To  tell  a  clever  story ; 

To  dance  on  holidays ; 
To  puzzle  through  the  almanac ; 

A  merry  song  to  scan,  — 
0  that  is  all  the  learning 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

v. 
To  drink  his  mug  of  cider, 

And  never  sigh  for  wine  ; 
To  look  at  courtly  ladies, 

Yet  think  his  Mag  divine  ; 
To  take  the  good  that 's  going, 

Content  with  Nature's  plan,  — 
0  that  is  the  philosophy 

'Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

VI. 

To  say,  "  0  Gracious  Father ! 
Excuse  my  merry  pranks  ; 


ROBIN  MERRYMAN.  211 

For  all  Thy  loving-kindness 

I  give  Thee  hearty  thanks  ; 
And  may  I  still  be  jolly 

Through  life's  remaining  span,"  — 
0  that 's  the  style  of  praying 

With  Robin  Merryman ! 

VII. 

Now,  all  ye  wretched  mortals 

Aspiring  to  be  rich  ; 
And  ye  whose  gilded  coaches 

Have  tumbled  in  the  ditch ; 
Leave  off  your  silly  whining, 

Adopt  a  wiser  plan ; 
Go  follow  the  example 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH. 

(Imitated  from  BeVanger's  "  Le  Roi  d'Yvetot") 
I. 

IN  Normandy  there  reigned  a  king, 
(I  've  quite  forgot  his  name,) 
Who  led  a  jolly  sort  of  life, 

And  did  n't  care  for  fame. 
A  nightcap  was  his  crown  of  state, 
Which  Jenny  placed  upon  his  pate : 
Ha !  ha !  —  laugh  and  sing : 
0  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 


II. 


He  ate  his  meals,  like  other  folk, 
Slept  soundly  and  secure, 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH.  213 

And  on  a  donkey  every  year 

He  made  his  royal  tour  ; 
A  little  dog  —  it  was  his  whim  — 
Was  body-guard  enough  for  him  : 
Ha !  ha  !  —  laugh  and  sing  : 
0  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 

m. 
A  single  foible  he  confessed,  — 

A  tendency  to  drink  ; 
But  kings  who  heed  their  subjects'  need, 

Should  mind  their  own,  I  think ; 
And  thus  it  was  his  tax  he  got,  — 
For  every  cask  an  extra  pot : 
Ha !  ha  !  —  laugh  and  sing : 
0  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 

IV. 

The  lasses  loved  this  worthy  king ; 
And  many  a  merry  youth 


214  THE  MERRY  MONARCH. 

Would  hail  his  majesty  as  "  Sire," 

And  often  spoke  the  truth. 

He  viewed  his  troops  in  goodly  ranks, 

But  still  their  cartridges  were  blanks. 

Ha !  ha !  —  laugh  and  sing : 

0  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 

v. 
He  never  stole  his  neighbors'  land 

To  magnify  his  realm ; 
But  steered  his  little  ship  of  state 

With  honor  at  the  helm ; 
And  when  at  last  the  king  was  dead, 
No  wonder  all  the  people  said :  — 
"  Ah !  ah  !  —  weep  and  sing  : 
0  was  n't  he  a  noble  king  ? " 


THE   HUNTER   AND   THE   MILKMAID. 

(Imitated  from  Beranger's  "  Le  Chasseur  et  la  Laiti&re.") 
I. 

THE  lark  is  singing  her  matin  lay, 
0  come  with  me,  fair  maiden,  I  pray ; 
Sweet,  0  sweet  is  the  morning  hour, 
And  sweeter  still  is  yon  ivied  bower ; 
Wreaths  of  roses  I  '11  twine  for  thee, 
0  come,  fair  maiden,  along  with  me  ! 

Ah !  Sir  Hunter,  my  mother  is  near ; 
I  really  must  n't  be  loitering  here ! 


n. 


Thy  mother,  fair  maiden,  is  far  away, 
And  never  will  listen  a  word  we  say ; 


21G    THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  MILKMAID. 

I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  that  ladies  sing 
In  royal  castles  to  please  the  king ; 
A  wondrous  song  whose  magical  charm 
Will  keep  the  singer  from  every  harm. 

Fie  !  Sir  Hunter,  —  a  fig  for  your  song ; 

Good  by  !  —  for  I  must  be  going  along ! 

m. 

Ah !  well,  —  if  singing  will  not  prevail, 
I  '11  tell  thee,  then,  a  terrible  tale ; 
'T  is  all  about  a  Baron  so  bold, 
Huge  and  swart,  and  ugly  and  old, 
Who  saw  the  ghost  of  his  murdered  wife ; 
A  pleasant  story,  upon  my  life  ! 

Ah !  Sir  Hunter,  the  story  is  flat ; 

I  know  one  worth  a  dozen  of  that. 

IV. 

I  '11  teach  thee,  then,  a  curious  prayer 
Of  wondrous  power  the  wolf  to  scare, 


THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  MILKMAID.    217 

And  frighten  the  witch  that  hovers  nigh 
To  blight  the  young  with  her  evil  eye  ; 
0  guard,  fair  maiden,  thy  beauty  well, 
A  fearful  thing  is  her  wicked  spell ! 

0,  I  can  read  my  missal,  you  know; 

Good  by !  Sir  Hunter,  —  for  I  must  go ! 

v. 

Nay,  tarry  a  moment,  my  charming  girl ; 
Here  is  a  jewel  of  gold  and  pearl ; 
A  beautiful  cross  it  is,  I  ween, 
As  .ever  on  beauty's  breast  was  seen : 
There  's  nothing  at  all  but  love  to  pay ; 
Take  it,  and  wear  it,  but  only  stay ! 

Ah !  Sir  Hunter,  what  excellent  taste  ! 

I'm  not  —  in  such  — particular  —  haste  ! 

10 


SONNETS. 
? 


PAN    IMMORTAL. 

WHO  weeps  the  death  of  Pan  ?     Pan  is 
not  dead, 
But  loves  the  shepherds  still ;  *  still  leads  the 

fauns 

In  merry  dances  o'er  the  grassy  lawns, 
To  his  own  pipes ;  as  erst  in  Greece  he  led 
The  sylvan  games,  what  time  the  god  pursued 
The  beauteous  Dryope\     The  Naiads  still 
Haunt  the  green  marge  of  every  mountain  rill ; 
The  Dryads  sport  in  every  leafy  wood  ; 
Pan  cannot  die  till  Nature's  self  decease  ! 
Full  oft  the  reverent  worshipper  descries 
His  ruddy  face  and  mischief-glancing  eyes 

*  Pan  curat  oves,  oviumque  magistros.  —  VIRGIL. 


222  SONNETS. 

Beneath  the  branches  of  old  forest-trees 

That  tower  remote  from  steps  of  worldly  men, 
Or  hears  his  laugh  far  echoing  down  the  glen ! 


THE    VICTIM. 

A  GALLIC  bard  the  touching  tale  has  told 
How  once  —  the  customary  dower  to  save  — 
A  sordid  sire  his  only  daughter  gave 

To  a  rich  suitor,  ugly,  base,  and  old. 

The  mother  too,  such  mothers  there  have  been, 
With  equal  pleasure  heard  the  formal  vow, 
"  With  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow," 

And  gave  the  bargain  an  approving  grin. 

Then,  to  the  girl,  who  stood  with  drooping  head, 
The  pallid  image  of  a  wretch  forlorn, 
Mourning  the  hapless  hour  when  she  was  born, 

The  Priest  said,  "  Agnes,  wilt  thou  this  man 
wed  ? " 


SONNETS.  223 

"  Of  this  my  marriage,  holy  man,"  said  she, 
"  Thou  art  the  first  to  say  a  word  to  me !  " 


TO    SPRING. 

"  0  VER  PURPUREUM!" — Violet-colored  Spring! 
Perhaps,  good  poet,  in  your  vernal  days 
The  simple  truth  might  justify  the  phrase ; 

But  now,  dear  Virgil,  there  is  no  such  thing ! 

Perhaps,  indeed,  in  your  Italian  clime, 
Where  o'er  the  year,  if  fair  report  be  true, 
Four  seasons  roll,  instead  of  barely  two, 

There  still  may  be  a  verdant  vernal  time ; 

But  here,  on  these  our  chilly  Northern  shores, 
Where  April  gleams  with  January's  snows, — 
Not  e'en  a  violet  buds ;  and  nothing  "  blows," 

Save  blustering  Boreas,  —  dreariest  of  bores. 

0  ver  purpureum  !  where  the  Spring  discloses 

Her  brightest  purple  on  our  lips  and  noses ! 


224  SONNETS. 


TO   MY  WIFE   ON   HER   BIRTHDAY. 

WHAT  !    ty  years  ?  —  I  never  could  have 

guessed  it 

By  any  token  writ  upon  your  brow, 
Or  other  test  of  Time,  —  had  you  not  now, 

Just  to  surprise  me,  foolishly  confessed  it. 

Well,  —  on  your  word,  of  course,  I  must  receive 

it; 

Although  (to  say  the  truth)  it  is,  indeed, 
As  proselytes  sometimes  accept  a  creed, 

While  in  their  hearts  they  really  don't  believe  it ! 

While  all  around  is  changed,  no  change  appears 
My  darling  Sophie,  to  these  eyes  of  mine, 
In  aught  of  thee  that  I  have  deemed  divine, 

To  mark  the  number  of  the  vanished  years,  — 
The  kindly  years  that  on  that  face  of  thine 
Have  spent  their  life,  and,  "  dying,  made  no 
sign  !  " 


SONNETS.  225 

THE    DILEMMA. 

Two  fashionable  women,  rather  gay 

Than  wise,  were  bosom  friends  for  many  a 

year, 
And  called  each  other   darling,   duck   and 

dear, 

As  lovers  do,  —  till,  one  unlucky  day, 

•*• 
The  younger,  falling  into  sad  disgrace, 

(An  old  suspicion  blackening  into  proof,) 
Her  cautious  crony  coldly  kept  aloof, 

And,  for  a  time,  discreetly  hid  her  face. 

Meeting  at  last,  the  injured  lady  cries, 
"  Is  this  the  way  you  cherish  and  defend 
The  wounded  honor  of  your  dearest  friend  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  knew,"  the  timid  dame  replies, 
"  The  tale  was  false,  —  but  then  what  could  I 

do?- 

I  have  n't  character  enough  for  two !  " 
«  10*  o 


226  SONNETS. 

THE   PARVENU'S   OPINION. 

Novus,  whose  silly  claim  to  "  high  position  "  - 

Is  genuine,  if  wealth  can  make  it  true  ; 
A  youth  whose  stock  —  petrolean,  not  patri 
cian — 

Shines   none   the   less  for   being  fresh  and 

new, — 
Standing  before  a  flaming  placard  sees, 

Announcing  thus  the  lecture  of  the  night, 
By  Everett,  —  "  The  Age  of  Pericles !  " 

Novus,  half  doubting  if  he  reads  aright, 
Repeats  the  words  (soliloquizing  loud) 

"  The  Age  of  Pericles  !  —  I  wonder  now 
Why  such  a  theme  should  gather  all  this  crowd 

That  throngs  the  door  with  such  a  mighty 

row ; 

There  is  n't  one  among  'em,  I  '11  engage, 
Who  cares  a  fig  about  the  fellow' 's  age!" 


SONNETS.  227 


THE   GRATEFUL  PREACHER. 

A  STROLLING  preacher,  "  once  upon  a  time," 

Addressed  a  congregation  rather  slim 
In  numbers,  —  yet  his  subject  was  sublime, 

('Twas  "Charity,")  sonorous  was  the  hymn; 
Fervent  the  prayer ;  and  though  the  house  was 
small, 

He  pounded  lustily  the  Sacred  Word, 
And  preached  an  hour  as  loud  as  he  could  bawl, 

As  one  who  meant  the  Gospel  should  be 

heard. 
And  now,  hehold,  the  preacher's  hat  is  sent 

Among  the  pews  for  customary  pence, 
But  soon  returns  as  empty  as  it  went !  —  *./£ 

Whereat  —  low  bowing  to  the  audience  — 
He  said,  "  My  preaching  is  not  all  in  vain  ; 
Thank  G-od!  I've  got  my  beaver  back  again!" 


228  SONNETS. 


THE   AMBITIOUS   PAINTER. 

A  PAINTER  once  —  't  was  many  years  ago  — 
Gave  public  notice  it  was  his  intent 
To  change  his  style  of  art ;  and  that  he  meant 

"  Henceforth  to  paint  like  Michael  Angelo  !  " 

The  artist's  scheme  was  sensible,  no  doubt, 
But  still  his  pictures,  though  he  thought  them 

fine, 
Remained  so  poor  in  color  and  design, 

His  plan  seemed  rather  hard  to  carry  out. 

By  every  common  amateur  surpassed, 

The   people   laughed,  as  well  enough  they 

might, 
To  see  the  fellow,  in  ambition's  spite, 

Go  on  a  wretched  dauber  to  the  last ! 
To  rival  Genius  in  her  great  inventions 
Needs  (that 's  the  moral)  more  than  good 
intentions ! 


EPIGRAMS 


THE    EXPLANATION. 


HARLES,  discoursing  rather  freely 
1     Of  the  unimportant  part 
Which  (he  said)  our  clever  women 

Play  in  Science  and  in  Art, 
"  Ah !  — the  sex  you  undervalue  "  ; 

Cried  his  lovely  cousin  Jane. 
"  No,  indeed  !  "  responded  Charley, 

"  Pray  allow  me  to  explain  ; 
Such  a  paragon  is  woman, 

That,  you  see,  it  TWMS£  be  true 
She  is  always  vastly  better 

Than  the  best  that  she  can  do !  " 


232  EPIGRAMS. 

A   COMMON   ALTERNATIVE. 

"  SAY,   what 's  to  be  done  with  this  window, 

dear  Jack  ?  — 
The  cold  rushes  through  it  at  every  crack." 

Quoth  John,  "  I  know  little  of  carpenter-craft, 
But  I  think,  my  dear  wife,  you  will  have  to  go 

through 

The  very  same  process  that  other  folks  do,  — 
That  is,   you   must   'list  or  submit  to   the 
draught!" 

NEVER   TOO    LATE   TO    MEND. 

"  HERE,  wife,"  said  Will,  "  I  pray  you  devote 
Just  half  a  minute  to  mend  this  coat 

Which  a  nail  has  chanced  to  rend." 
"  'T  is  ten  o'clock  !  "  said  his  drowsy  mate. 
"  I  know,"  said  Will,  "  it  is  rather  late  ; 

But  't  is  c  never  too  late  to  mend  ' !  " 


EPIGRAMS.  233 


A    PLAIN    CASE. 

WHEN  Tutor  Thompson  goes  to  bed, 
That  very  moment,  it  is  said, 
The  cautious  man  puts  out  the  light, 
And  draws  the  curtain  snug  and  tight. 
You  marvel  much  why  this  should  be, 
But  when  his  spouse  you  chance  to  see. 
What  seemed  before  a  puzzling  case 
Is  plain  as  —  Mrs.  Thompson's  face  ! 


AN   EQUIVOCAL  APOLOGY. 

QUOTH  Madam  Bas-bleu,  "  I  hear  you  have  said 
Intellectual  women  are  always  your  dread  ; 

Now  tell  me,  dear  sir,  is  it  true  ?  " 
"  Why,  yes,"  answered  Tom,  "  very  likely  I  may 
Have  made  the  remark,  in  a  jocular  way ; 

But  then,  on  my  honor,  I  did  n't  mean  you !  " 


234  EPIGRAMS. 


A   CANDID   CANDIDATE. 

WHEN  Thomas  was  running  (though  sure  to  be 

beat) 

In  the  annual  race  for  the  Governor's  seat, 
And  a  crusty  old  fellow  remarked,  to  his  face, 
He  was  clearly  too  young  for  so  lofty  a  place,  — 
"Perhaps   so,"    said   Tom;    "but  consider  a 

minute ; 
The  objection  will  cease  by  the  time  I  am  in  it !  " 

ON   A   DECOLLETE   DRESS. 

/ 
THAT  "  effects   are  the   same  from  a  similar 

cause," 
Is  one  of  the  famous  Socratian  laws 

Whose  fallacy  we  may  discover ; 
For  —  quite  in  the  teeth  of  the  logical  rule  — 
The  style  of  apparel  that  keeps  Emma  cool, 

Just  kindles  a  flame  in  her  lover  ! 


EPIGRAMS. 


LUCUS    A    NON  — 

You'll  oft  find  in  books,  rather  ancient  than 

recent, 

A  gap  in  the  page  marked  with  "  cetera  desunt" 
By  which  you  may  commonly  take  it  for  granted 
The  passage  is  wanting  without  being  wanted ; 
And  may  borrow,  besides,  a  significant  hint 
That  desunt  means  simply  not  decent  to  print ! 

NEMO   REPENTE   TURPISSIMUS. 

BOB  SAWYER  to  a  man  of  law 

Repeating  once  the  Roman  saw 

"  Nemo  repente  "  and  the  rest, 

Was  answered  thus,  "  Well,  I  protest, 

However  classic  your  quotation, 

I  do  not  see  the  application." 

"  'T  is  plain  enough,"  responded  Sawyer  : 

"  It  takes  three  years  to  make  a  lawyer!  " 


236  EPIGRAMS. 


CONJURGIUM   NON   CONJUGIUM. 

DICK  leads,  it  is  known,  with  his  vixenish  wife, 
In  spite  of  their  vows,  such  a  turbulent  life, 
The  social  relation  of  Dick  and  his  mate 
Should  surely  be  written  The  Conjurgal  State ! 


TOO   CANDID   BY   HALF. 

As  John  and  his  wife  were  discoursing  one  day 
Of  their  several  faults,  in  a  bantering  way, 

Said  she,  "  Though  my  wit  you  disparage, 
I  'm  sure,  my  dear  husband,  our  friends  will  at 
test 
This  much,  at  the  least,  that  my  judgment  is 

best." 

Quoth  John,    "  So  they  said    at    our  mar 
riage  !  " 


EPIGRAMS.  237 


CHEAP    ENOUGH. 

THEY  've  a  saying  in  Italy,  pointed  and  terse, 

That  a  pretty  girl's  smiles  are  the  tears  of  the 
purse  ; 

"  What  matter  ?  "  says  Charley.  "  Can  dia 
monds  be  cheap  ? 

Let  lovers  be  happy,  though  purses  should 
weep ! " 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


